Passion and Propriety
by Elise de Sallier
Summary: There is absolutely nothing improper about the Vicar of Forkton's spinster daughter nursing the badly wounded Viscount Masen back to health. Isabella is far too sensible to develop feelings for a man of Lord Masen's wealth and position . . . a man who is determined to break the curse that has plagued his family for generations by letting his bloodline die out.
1. Chapter 1

**Passion and Propriety – Full Summary**

There is absolutely nothing improper about the Vicar of Forkton's spinster daughter nursing the badly wounded Viscount Masen back to health. Isabella is far too sensible to develop feelings for a man of Lord Masen's wealth and position . . . a man who is determined to break the curse that has plagued his family for generations by letting his bloodline die out.

Bullied into making what can only be described as a miraculous recovery, Edward, Viscount Masen, cannot decide if his beautiful nurse is an angel or a devilish imp. She torments him with foul-tasting concoctions and by showing him a taste of what might have been, if he were not cursed by the sins of his forefathers.

 **Author's Note**

It has been a long time since I have published any stories on Fan Fiction Net. At first, it was because I was too busy editing and publishing my P2P story, A Forbidden Love as two books, Innocence and Protection. Then I was busy writing, editing and publishing two original stories, Passion and Propriety and Duty and Desire. During this time, I became ill with a neurological disorder, so for the last few years, I have been busy just surviving. With the closure of The Writer's Coffee Shop, the rights to my stories have been returned to me. Since I still read and review on Fan Fiction Net every day (it is my happy place) I decided to do a reverse Pull to Publish so that my fellow Fan Fiction Net readers can enjoy my stories for free. To everyone who purchased copies of my published books back in 2013 and 2014, I cannot thank you enough for your kindness and support.

I would like to acknowledge the following people for their assistance in the creation of the original version of Passion and Propriety. My editing team from TWCS, Hayley German Fisher (Lead Editor), Allison Hoover (Copy Editor), and Andrea McKay (Proofreader). Thanks also to my Fabulous Five, April Brown, Sammi Collington, Sherry Gomes, Nan Kubicek, and Kathie Spitz. We all know I wouldn't be here without you, neither still writing nor quite possibly on the planet!

 **Dedication**

To my wonderful daughter, whose creative talent casts mine in the shade. Your encouragement, suggestions, eye rolls, and laughter made this story both a learning experience and a joy to write. Sorry for the shocks!

 **Chapter 1**

 **Lure**

The long-absent Viscount Masen had sworn to never again set foot inside the Forkton village church. There were only so many hellfire and damnation sermons one could endure in a lifetime, and Edward Masen had reached his quota by the age of ten. The other location he had vowed to shun at all costs was his destination on this journey—Masen Manor. A stone monstrosity of gargoyle-infested parapets and looming towers, it presided over the village, from its place on a distant hill, like a sentinel of doom. In no great hurry to darken its dreary doors, Edward turned his back on his childhood home and faced the other structure that featured prominently in his nightmares.

Drawn near to the red brick chapel by the sound of a woman's contralto rising above the strains of a pipe organ, Edward furrowed his brow. He distinctly recalled paying a small fortune for the sanctuary's refurbishment some years prior, not to mention a hefty annual maintenance bill, but the building looked in dire need of repair. Perplexed, but with more pressing concerns weighing on his mind, Edward contemplated breaking his pledge to nevermore darken the church's door. After keeping his distance for almost a decade, he no longer feared the oppressive sermons that had haunted his childhood. It helped that the reverend who had tormented him was long dead. More enticing was the knowledge that the current vicar was one of the few members of the local gentry who had treated him with kindness when he was a boy.

Fond but almost forgotten memories surfaced of the vicar, a mere curate at the time, granting Edward the privilege of playing with the eldest of his three daughters. Curious about the solemn boy from the manor that dominated all their lives, the dark-haired girl with the warm, brown eyes had welcomed him as a bemused participant in her games. She was his senior by several years, and a bossy sort. He had been willing to forgive the unflattering trait as, unlike every other girl of his station, she had not spurned him in a cruelly deliberate manner.

The position and wealth he had been set to inherit counted for little against rumours that an intimate association with him, namely marriage, would result in a deadly price. The vicar's generosity was no doubt aided by the awareness that his daughter's much lower position in society protected her from the future viscount's potential interest. Nevertheless, Edward had appreciated the rare sense of acceptance.

A hint of smile twitched his lips as he recalled the family's gift of friendship, cementing his decision to enter the previously foreboding sanctuary. It wasn't as if he had anything better to do. After he had visited his unlamented father's grave in the cemetery beside the church—the reason for the interruption in his journey—all that would be left for him to do was drag his wretched self up the hill to his family home and then . . . die.

The wound to his left arm would undoubtedly prove fatal. The army surgeon had been adamant amputation was his only hope of survival, but Edward had refused. Death on the battlefield would have been a welcome conclusion to his military career, but the piecemeal destruction of his person was more than he could bear. He already wore a savage scar down the right side of his face from an encounter with a Frenchman's sword. The musket-shot wound he had received to his leg some six months prior had never fully healed, not that it was given much opportunity. It was a minor miracle he had made it this far, but upon realising his demise was imminent, Edward had felt compelled to return to Masen Manor. His death would put an end to the curse that had plagued his family for generations, and it seemed fitting for that to occur at the place where the horror had begun.

Moving with surprising stealth for such a large man, one both feverish and encumbered with a limp, he made his way to the deserted rearmost pew of the chapel. Wary of drawing attention, he stifled his groans as he lowered himself onto the wooden bench. Once he had caught his breath, Edward was pleased to discover he had an uninterrupted view of the woman with the lovely voice. She was seated at the old pipe organ, and even from this angle, her appearance was as captivating as her singing. The curls visible from beneath her bonnet appeared chocolate brown or possibly auburn. It was difficult to tell in the dim light of the church, as few sconces had been lit. Her profile showed a regal nose complemented by a stubborn-looking chin. A spark of recognition had him wondering if she might be the childhood playmate he had just been thinking of. _Eloise? Isolde?_

If he was correct in his assumption, she was remarkably trim for a woman of seven or eight and twenty years, since she would likely have borne a passel of children by now. Although she was dressed soberly, fitting for a vicar's daughter, he imagined, Edward thought her most appealing. Not that he would have pursued her even if she was unwed and he wasn't in the process of departing this mortal coil. Long used to suppressing any sensation of attraction he might feel for a member of the fairer sex, he focused, instead, on what had caught his attention in the first place—her skilled playing and lovely voice.

Ignoring the words of the hymns, their messages of redemption and eternal reward irrelevant to one of his dubious spiritual standing, he allowed his mind to drift with the music. It was all he could manage, as his fever was spiking again making coherent thought a challenge. Despite his physical discomfort, the soothing notes granted Edward the first measure of peace he had known since the battle for Arapiles on the Portuguese Peninsula.

Despite the fact he had spent them at the forefront of a brutal war, army life had suited him. His years of service were both purposeful and rewarding, seeing him rise to the rank of captain on merit rather than patronage. His long-term plan had been to remain part of an institution where his character and accomplishments counted more than the misfortune of his heritage, irregular as that was for one of his station. A military career was normally the purview of a second or thirdson. Those who inherited lofty titles and vast estates did _not_ put themselves at such risk, engaged as they were in the running of said estates and the begetting of heirs to carry on their bloodlines. As far as Edward was concerned, the blood that flowed through his veins would have been better shed upon the battlefield.

The final hymn came to an end on a discordant note. He opened his eyes to see the organist staring at him, a frown marring her otherwise lovely brow. Edward glowered in return, an instinctual response, and the woman turned back to face the organ, a hint of colour appearing on her cheeks. He wouldn't describe her as beautiful, her features too strong and that chin far too determined, but there was something about her that he found pleasing to the eye. Since she would likely be the lastlady he ever looked upon, he decided to allow himself the indulgence of staring, even if she wisely chose to shun his less than appealing visage.

Edward raised his hand to trace the scar that adorned his cheek, encountering a full beard and strands of unkempt hair. The corner of his mouth twitched. No wonder the poor woman had looked askance at him, as he must appear more beast than man.

The vicar, now middle-aged and with a receding hairline, took his place behind the pulpit, and Edward refocused his attention. Allowing the reverend's oratory to flow over him, words that spoke of a God of love and the promise of a joy-filled future, his eyes fluttered closed. While he doubted his looming encounter with the Almighty would be a pleasant affair, he couldn't help holding on to the faint hope that death might bring some relief from his suffering.

As the vicar drew the sermon to a close, Edward gripped the end of the pew and used it to pull himself to his feet. Breathing heavily, he took one last look at the vicar's eldest daughter—yes, he was sure it was her—sitting stiff-backed beside the organ. He hoped life had treated her well, that she was happy, and her husband was a decent fellow. There wasn't a blessed thing he could do about it either way, but he liked the idea that she had been rewarded for showing a lonely boy unexpected kindness and for giving a dying man the pleasure of listening to her lovely voice.

 **Author's Note** **  
**I have decided to stick with the chapters from the published version when posting, but where they are quite short, I will publish two at a time. Next up, we'll hear from Isabella, but I'd love to hear your thoughts on my Regency Edward.  
xx Elise


	2. Chapter 2 - Discovery

**Chapter 2**

 **Discovery**

The dutiful eldest daughter of the vicar of Forkton couldn't shake the feeling she was being watched. Isabella Swan was not one to seek the attention of the local society, content to let others take the limelight. Consequently, the sensation of a pair of eyes boring into the space between her shoulder blades was quite distinctive.

As she brought the final hymn to a close, Isabella permitted herself a brief glance in the direction of the disturbing feeling. Expecting to be met by proof of her folly in the manner of an empty space, she startled at the sight of an officer—a stranger to Forkton—slumped against the carved pew end. Even hunched over, it was obvious he was tall with broad shoulders that filled out his greatcoat in an intimidating fashion. Her fingers slipped on the keys, and the officer's eyes flew open. His gaze found hers, and for the briefest moment she thought she saw a spark of recognition in his dark eyes before it faded, his brows lowering in a scowl.

Embarrassed at being caught out, Isabella felt an uncharacteristic blush warm her cheeks and spun to face the organ. There was something familiar about the officer, which was impossible, as she would not have forgotten being introduced to a man with such a formidable presence. Still, she couldn't shake the feeling she knew him somehow.

Stifling a sigh, Isabella acknowledged what was to blame for her odd humour. She had been dreading the arrival of this day for a very long time, heralding as it did the final death-knell of her girlhood dreams. With the arrival of her twenty-seventh birthday, the hope she had nurtured throughout the years that she would one day be in possession of a husband, children, a family of her own, had died on a breathless whimper.

Reminding herself that life still held purpose, just not the one she had aspired to, she focused on her father's message. Prepared for this far-from-auspicious day with her in mind, he paraphrased from Jeremiah.

"God's thoughts towards us are of good and not evil. His plan is to give us a blessed end—a positive, hopeful, and rewarding end."

Isabella was all too aware the exact wording was an "expected"end. While appreciating her father's attempt to be encouraging, she considered the original translation more appropriate. It had long been _expected_ by gentry and commoner alike that the vicar of Forkton's eldest and by far plainest daughter would end her days as a spinster.

After the service, Isabella told herself she was relieved to discover the back pew empty and the stranger nowhere in sight. Whatever the dishevelled gentleman's reason for being in Forkton, it was no concern of hers, and she ignored the urge to search for him amongst the thinning crowd.

Occupied with her duties, she found comfort in familiarity. She approached Lord and Lady Westcott, the most highly placed of her father's parishioners, and gave them her undivided attention to ensure they did not feel slighted in any way. The elderly widow, Lady Newton, whose son was a baron too filled with self-importance to visit his ailing mother, required cosseting to soothe her disappointment. Miss Mallory, thrilled to receive an invitation to visit her wealthy aunt and uncle in Bath, beamed when Isabella congratulated her on her good fortune. If the young lady's luck continued, she might even find herself a husband.

Mr Crowley, the odious manager of the Masen estate, required extra careful handling. While not highly positioned, he was one of the most powerful personages in the district's society, as he controlled the purse strings that paid the majority of its inhabitants' wages—Isabella's father's included. Accompanying him was the equally unpleasant Mr Hunter, owner of a pleasant property on the outskirts of Masen. Despite his position, and the fact he was owed a considerable sum of money by her father, his interest in Isabella's youngest sister, Tanya, was wholly unwelcome. The man bore on his portly frame more than twice the pretty girl's years, and he had a reputation for lechery. But with the power to see the vicar sent to debtor's prison if the loan was called in, the Swans could not afford to snub him outright.

While Isabella had no desire for either of her younger sisters to meet her lonely fate, neither did she wish to see their happiness sacrificed to expediency. If the horrid Mr Hunter had cast his gaze her way, she would have accepted his proposal, as an unappealing husband was better than no husband at all. The relief of knowing her father was safe from penury would have been significant, and eliciting even modest dowries for her sisters would have more than made up for any indignities she would have endured. But, typically, Mr Hunter had shown no interest in Isabella. Nor had the repugnant gentleman found her middle sister, twenty-year-old Rosalie, to his taste, as the girl's strong opinions had the tendency to counteract her otherwise comely charms. No, the recently widowed Mr Hunter's interest was fixed on Tanya, a prize he would not have the satisfaction of claiming if Isabella had any say in the matter.

Deliberately engaging Mr Hunter and Mr Crowley in conversation, Isabella did her best to distract them until Tanya could make her escape. Her hope was the girl would head straight to the vicarage as promised and not allow herself to become diverted in some fashion, her flightiness an increasing cause for concern.

Once the rest of the local society had been sufficiently indulged, Isabella turned her attention to the more lowly positioned members of the congregation, many of whom she counted as friends. The highlight of her morning was sharing recipes with Mrs Darrow, Lady Westcott's cook. The portly woman's scones were lighter than hers, but she readily admitted Isabella's pastry was flakier.

After luncheon, during which her birthday was celebrated in a modest fashion in keeping with her wishes, Isabella left her sisters engaged in leisurely pursuits and her father fast asleep in his favourite reading chair. Donning her bonnet, she made her way down a well-worn path to the cemetery in the field beside the church.

"It's been quite a day, Mama," she murmured, kneeling down beside the grave and plucking at the weeds that had sprung up since her visit the week before. "It's my birthday, and we both know what that means."

Sitting back with her skirts spread out around her, Isabella sighed. All she had ever wanted was to be a wife and mother. Now, if their father was to pass away before at least one of the girls was married, the hope being a husband would be willing to provide a home for his wife's sisters, all three girls would find themselves penniless and without protection. But finding both generous and tolerable husbands for Rosalie and Tanya was proving easier said than done.

The curse that had blighted generations of the Masen viscounts was believed by many to have spilled over into the surrounding district in recent years, causing many landholding families to relocate to more pleasant, prosperous climes. The few eligible gentlemen remaining, while content to enjoy the company of the vicar of Forkton's younger daughters, invariably chose girls from more substantial families—girls with _dowries—_ when it came to matrimony.

In an attempt to raise her spirits, Isabella lifted her face to the pale spring sun. A movement caught her attention, and she looked to the nearby trees to see a large, brown horse all but hidden in the foliage. After brushing the soil from her hands, she stood and slowly approached.

"Hello, boy," she murmured while reaching up to stroke his forehead. She could only assume he must have run off from a Sunday hunt, leaving his rider to walk home in disgrace. But rather than finding the reins snagged on a bush, she was surprised to find them tied securely to the branch of a tree.

"Where's your rider? Off hunting for truffles?"

Isabella's lips twitched at the unlikely image of the owner of such a proud beast digging around the forest floor.

The horse pushed against her hand, and she patted his velvety muzzle. There didn't appear to be anyone lurking, or grovelling, amongst the oak trees, so she scanned the cemetery. Spotting the form of a man sitting against a headstone, the horse's rider she presumed, Isabella wondered who it could be. She had no intention of disturbing him, but when he remained unmoving for several long minutes, concern welled in her bosom. After taking a few steps in his direction, her eyes widened. It was _him,_ the bedraggled officer from the service, and he wasn't sitting at a graveside but appeared to have collapsed.

Isabella picked up her skirts and ran across the grass, her footsteps slowing when she saw which headstone the man was sprawled against. It was the one belonging to the most recently deceased of the Masen viscounts.

"Edward?"

The officer's lids flickered open, his eyes both green and clouded with pain. After kneeling beside him, she placed her fingers against his brow, unsurprised to find him burning with fever.

"Don't worry. I am here to help."

Compassion and concern welled within Isabella, as her suspicions led her to an inescapable conclusion. The battle-scarred and gravely ill officer lying across his unlamented father's grave was none other than her childhood friend, Edward.

The sixth Viscount Masen had finally returned home.

 **~P &P~**

 **I had so much fun researching and writing this story, and I would love to hear your thoughts.**

 **xx Elise**


	3. Homecoming

**Author's Note:**

Thank you very, very much for the kind words you have given both this story and my return to posting on FFn. I feel incredibly welcomed and so glad I made the decision to post my stories here. I am thrilled to say that almost six hundred readers have read through to the second chapter. Woohoo! That's already quite a lot more than purchased the published version. A couple of reviewers mentioned concern over the slow pace and extensive narrative of the first two chapters, but I can assure you, the story picks up pace from here and there is plenty of interaction between our main characters. For those who are curious, I am planning to update two to three times a week, just taking the time to respond to the amazing readers who honour me with a review in between. Thank you again for your wonderful support!

xx Elise

PS: Edward is 25, two years younger than Bella, though both seem much older to begin with, partly due to the lives they've lead and partly due to the times they live in. Life expectancy was much lower, especially for women who were typically married off in their mid to late teens and often died in childbirth or as a result of bearing too many children and becoming old before their time.

 **~P &P~**

 **Chapter 3**

 **Homecoming**

"Papa, girls, come quickly." Isabella ran through the house, stopping only to collect the bag she used when visiting her father's parishioners.

"What is it? What's happened?"

Her father followed her into the kitchen where she rapidly assembled what she needed from her collection of herbal tinctures and medical supplies.

"Edward Masen has collapsed in the cemetery."

" _Viscount_ Masen?" Rosalie asked from the doorway. "After all these years?"

"The officer with the limp?"

Isabella nodded to her father before turning to Tanya. "Run down to the granary and ask Mr Black to hitch up his flat-backed cart. Tell him to drive it to the top of the cemetery as quickly as possible, and get him to bring those sons of his. We'll need help lifting the viscount."

Obeying without question, for a change, Tanya reached for her bonnet hanging on a hook in the foyer.

"Once you're sure he's on his way, go and find Alice," Isabella called after her. "She's probably helping Sally with her confinement."

Tanya hesitated near the door. "Sally?" Preferring the characters in her stories to the more pedestrian inhabitants of the village, the vicar's youngest daughter had a tendency to forget the names of their neighbours.

"Sally Martin, the farrier's wife. Her babe is overdue. Tell Alice she is needed at the manor urgently."

Alice, Isabella's closest friend, had been cast from the only home she'd ever known upon the death of her father, Lord Brandon. His wife had not appreciated raising her husband's bastard child alongside his legitimate ones, and had been only too eager to banish the girl at the first opportunity. Spurned by the society in which she had been raised, Alice had apprenticed herself to her elderly aunt, the village's midwife and herbalist, and now serviced the district in her stead.

Isabella's father stayed her arm, his expression troubled. "Shouldn't we send to Thornton for the doctor?"

"Must we?" While the doctor could be enticed to travel to the village for a fee, he was unlikely to be sober when he arrived, even this early in the afternoon. "Alice will do Edward—I mean the _viscount_ —far more good than Dr Gerandy."

Her father sighed. "You're probably right. Mr Crowley may insist on calling a physician, but I'll encourage him to send to the city for a more trustworthy candidate."

"That devil will do whatever suits his own needs," Rosalie muttered, earning a warning look from her father though he didn't dispute her assessment. "What can I do to help?"

Isabella shot her middle sister an appreciative look. "You can pack my portmanteau and make sure it finds its way into the cart, as I don't fancy having to carry it all the way up to the manor."

"You plan on staying with the viscount?" Her father asked as he followed Isabella out the door, donning his coat on the way.

"Mr and Mrs Cope won't be able to care for him by themselves, and Alice is far too busy to sit at his bedside." Isabella chose not to add that her friend would make sure _not_ to neglect her many other patients just because Lord Masen was of a higher station.

"I'm not sure I'm comfortable with you tending to a young gentleman." The vicar shook his head as they strode briskly along the path to the cemetery.

"Who else is there, Papa? I've done my fair share of nursing, and it's not as if I've a reputation to uphold. Well, other than as your daughter, the dutiful spinster."

Her father's expression softened, but Isabella had no time to regret her bitter tone. As they approached the Masen plot, her priority was the man lying propped against his father's tomb. The viscount's condition appeared to have worsened during the short time she was away. His breath came in harsh pants, and his complexion, though tanned by some distant southern sun, was grey and waxen. Wary of the sling she saw tucked beneath his greatcoat, she gave his uninjured shoulder a gentle shake.

"Lord Masen? Edward?" Isabella took the liberty of using his Christian name in the hopes of garnering a response. To her relief, his eyes opened. "I'm Miss Isabella Swan, and this is my father, the Reverend Swan," she said, not sure he would remember them after so many years. "We're going to take care of you."

Edward's heavy-lidded gaze followed her hands as she removed a bottle from her bag and poured a pungent liquid into a tumbler.

"If you could drink this, please."

She raised the glass to his mouth, but he turned his head.

"No laudanum," he muttered.

"It's just willow bark and some herbs to help with the fever," Isabella assured him.

After turning back and studying her for a moment, he opened his cracked lips. The brew contained both sugar and liquorice to try and disguise the bitter taste, but he grimaced and pulled away after taking a mere sip.

"You need to swallow it all," Isabella said, using her best no-nonsense tone.

He huffed a feeble breath before doing as he had been told. As he finished the tonic, a shudder ran through him, his expression decidedly aggrieved.

"My horse." He gestured weakly towards the tree line.

"Don't worry. He'll be taken care of," her father said as Isabella looked to see the miller, Mr Black, and his sons cresting the hill.

"Your carriage has arrived, my lord." She winced at the sight of the sturdy cart being pulled by Mr Black's heavyset horses. "It's not much, I'm afraid, but it was the closest vehicle at hand and the most suitable for the purpose."

The viscount attempted to push away from the tombstone but fell back with another groan.

"Don't try to move," Isabella scolded. "The miller and his sons will lift you." When she shifted to make room for them, the viscount grasped her forearm.

"You'll accompany me?"

"Yes, of course," she said, surprised by his demand. She could only imagine he must fear abandonment. "I won't leave you alone."

"Good." His hand fell from her arm as he succumbed to unconsciousness once more.

It was a mercy, Isabella concluded, as manhandling the injured lord onto the back of the cart was not easily accomplished. After being helped aboard by the miller and her father, she covered the viscount with a blanket before cradling his head on her lap to protect it from the jouncing, springless cart ride. Rosalie arrived just in time to deliver Isabella's bag and offer assurances she would manage the running of the household.

" _Promise_ you'll keep an eye on Tanya?"

"I'll tell her to be careful," Rosalie said, gripping Isabella's fingers.

Isabella hoped their younger sister would heed the warning, as Tanya tended to be somewhat cavalier when it came to her reputation. Isabella wouldn't put it past Mr Hunter to attempt to compromise the girl, thereby forcing her to accept his hand.

"Don't worry." Her father reached to pat Isabella's shoulder as the horses strained to get the heavy cart moving. "The Lord is watching over us."

While Isabella admired her father's faith in the Almighty's providence, she feared his tendency to ignore their grim reality would lead to the family's downfall. With a muttered prayer to a God she sometimes struggled to trust, Isabella hoped her father and sisters would manage without her. She had stayed away for a night or two before while assisting a new mother in caring for her brood. But one look at her patient, and she imagined her stay at the manor could be prolonged. That was if the viscount lasted the night.

"I'll inform Mr Crowley of Lord Masen's return," her father said while walking beside the lumbering cart. "And I'll arrange for his horse to be stabled at the smithy. The Copes will have more than enough to contend with caring for the viscount, even with your help."

"I'm sure they will." Isabella nodded then waved her sister and father goodbye.

 **~P &P~**

The Copes, to their credit, took their employer's unexpected arrival in their stride and rushed to prepare the master suite. It was one of the handful of rooms in the enormous, grey-stone mansion they kept in partial readiness in anticipation of the young viscount's unlikely return.

Appointed to oversee Edward's affairs upon his father's death, Mr Crowley had wasted no time in dismissing the rest of the staff and closing the manor after Edward's departure, many years before. Isabella was one of the few members of the local society to visit the dark and imposing edifice. Unlike the local villagers, her concern for the aging caretaker and his wife—left to manage with minimal funds and virtually no assistance—overrode her apprehension. While she gave due respect to the curse that not even her father discounted, she refused to be intimidated by something that could have no possible bearing upon one such as herself.

Twice whilst being carried up to the master suite, Lord Masen roused and groaned in pain.

"Don't be alarmed, my lord," Isabella murmured when he began to thrash about.

Attempting to sit up, he grabbed hold of her sleeve. "Where am I?"

"You are home, at Masen Manor."

He slumped back, his eyes fluttering closed. Memories of the boy she had played with as a child overlaid the image of the man lying on the old door they were using as a stretcher. As far as anyone knew, the viscount had never married and was all alone in the world. Isabella was surprised he had made the effort to return, considering his condition. It grieved her to think he might not have any anywhere else to go.

"It's a wonder all the rough 'andling didn't wake 'is Lordship," Mr Cope mused after the viscount had been transferred to the bed that dominated the enormous master suite.

"It's the fever."

After dismissing Mr Black and his sons with a word of thanks, all three eager to depart the fearful surroundings, Isabella wasted no time wrestling the viscount's knee-length boots from his feet.

"Mrs Cope, could you heat some water? I'll need to clean His Lordship's wounds."

"Of course, Miss Isabella." The motherly woman bustled for the door, clearly dismayed at the sight of the man they all remembered as a lanky but otherwise healthy-looking lad now in such a sorry state. "I'll have Mr Black send his youngest lad to assist us with the to-ing and fro-ing. The family will be glad of a little extra coin."

"I'm sure they will." Isabella nodded, privately concerned about who would provide the coinage if the viscount were to die. The caretaker's meagre allowance barely covered the cost of the elderly couple's survival, and Isabella had no money to speak of.

"I'll set some broth to simmering on the stove while I'm at it," Mrs Cope added.

Isabella smiled her thanks before returning her attention to her patient. Her stomach knotted when she considered what she was about to do. Despite having assured her father she was up to the task of nursing the returned lord, she owned to considerable misgivings at the prospect of undressing and bathing him. To make matters worse, he regained lucidity while she and Mr Cope were attempting to wrestle his greatcoat and jacket from his body.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" He sat up in the bed, shoving Isabella and her frail assistant aside with alarming ease.

"Undressing you so I can assess the extent of your injuries," Isabella said once she had picked herself up off the floor and returned to his side.

"My injuries are fatal. Can't you let a man die in peace?"

"You may be right, my lord," she said, her tone sympathetic despite the buffeting she had just received. "But at least let us make you more comfortable."

Glowering, he gave a reluctant nod, and Isabella set about divesting him of his coat, jacket, and breeches while doing her best to ignore his muttered imprecations. She felt no compunction about cutting the torn and stained shirt from his body, but once it was out of the way, her breath hitched.

Lord Masen had grown into a well-developed specimen of a man. His muscled torso bore a light spattering of reddish hair, brighter than the sweat matted locks on his head. It formed an inverted triangle in the middle of his chest before trailing in a line down his belly towards the waistband of his undergarments. Lifting her gaze to his face, Isabella was relieved to note his eyes were now closed, his dark lashes standing out against his ashen cheeks. Being caught admiring the man's body would have been mortifying to say the least.

Assuming a more professional air, she catalogued his injuries, fear causing her heart to race at their extent. A savage and barely healed wound on his thigh explained the limp, whilst sundry older scars marred his long and otherwise well-formed limbs and torso. But it was the injury to his shoulder and upper arm that was cause for concern. After carefully unwrapping the soiled bandage, she recoiled at the sight and smell of the suppurating wound.

"Oh, dear," she murmured, and the viscount slowly opened his eyes.

"Should have just left me at the graveyard."

Isabella huffed a breath. "Yes, well, I suppose we could have just dug a hole next to your father and pushed you in. But we're not heathens, my lord, even if we are beneath your notice."

His brows furrowed and then he shrugged, the action inducing a moan. Isabella's conscience pricked at her; the viscount wasn't responsible for the actions of his father and grandfathers before him, and it was hardly surprising that he had kept his distance all these years.

It was not a good sign when his eyes rolled back into his head, but she couldn't help feeling relieved that he was no longer conscious. Sponging down his too-warm flesh while he was aware of her actions would have made the task even more unsettling than it was. Isabella gave Mr Cope the job of bathing the viscount's more intimate region, but she was forced to help him dress their patient in the clean underclothes he had retrieved from storage. In the process, she saw more of the viscount's personage than an unrelated female, an unwed one at that, ever should. There was nothing to be done for it, and Mr Cope let her know with a look that her secret was safe with him.

Having exhausted her healing skills, Isabella didn't bother to hide her relief when Alice arrived later that afternoon. With her long black hair, fair skin, and pale grey eyes, the young healer had a fey quality to her appearance that belied her studious dedication to her craft.

"Is there any hope?" Isabella asked while her friend examined the viscount, speaking softly in case he roused.

"There's detritus still in the wound. If the field surgeons had had any sense, they'd have done a thorough search for pieces of shrapnel and cloth."

"You don't think they did?"

The two women exchanged a look, having seen the results of such negligence—and ignorance _—_ before. Some surgeons even _introduced_ foreign matter into wounds to promote the formation of pus which they believed was indicative of healing, a theory Alice rejected.

"The bone isn't broken," she said. "But amputation would have been considered inevitable given the severity of the wound."

Isabella reached to mop the viscount's brow with a damp cloth. "He must have refused, the foolish man."

Alice harrumphed, rummaging through her bag for the medical instruments she kept hidden in a secret compartment in the base. Gasping, Isabella clutched her friend's arm.

"You can't mean to perform surgery. He's a lord. A peer of the realm. You know what will happen if you're discovered."

Alice brushed her aside and washed the instruments in the hot water Mrs Cope had delivered earlier.

"It's hardly surgery. I'm just going to have a look and see if I can find what the butchers left behind . . . and debride the dead flesh," she added with a shrug.

"If he dies, you could be blamed."

"If I do nothing, he definitely dies. This way, there's a slim chance he will recover."

Isabella gave a reluctant nod and helped to prop up the viscount's head so Alice could administer him an herbal draught.

With the advent of the scientific age, herbalism and traditional midwifery had fallen into disrepute, replaced by bloodletting, purging, and the use of mercury and other tonics Alice was convinced did more harm than good. Poorly trained physicians, usually younger sons of the gentry, ignored the most basic practices of cleanliness and common sense. In Alice's opinion, surgeons were little more than glorified barbers, or "butchers" as she bluntly named them. While not necessarily disagreeing, Isabella feared her friend risked severe censure, even imprisonment, for expressing her disparaging opinions, let alone for her actions.

Troubled by more immediate concerns, Isabella studied their patient. "How shall we keep him from fighting us? He tossed Mr Cope and myself aside like we were March flies when we started undressing him."

"The sleeping draught should help to keep him subdued, but we may have to tie him down."

Isabella blanched, and Alice eyed her pointedly.

"Our only hope of saving him is to clean the wound and stop the poison's spread. I can't do that if he's thrashing all over the place, so don't go getting all missish on me."

"Missish?"

Isabella had never been accused of oversensitive behaviour before, though she did require a breath to steady her nerves. Her previous nursing experience had been in the order of sitting by a patient's bedside, wiping brows, and administering herbal tonics. Assisting with surgery was well outside her purview.

Masking her fear, she asked in a determined tone, "What would you have me do?"

"Climb atop the bed and kneel on his far side but nice and close," Alice said, her tone quite reasonable despite the extraordinary nature of her words.

"I beg your pardon?" Isabella stared at her friend.

"You heard me." Alice readied her instruments. "We can't both stand on this side of the bed. You'll get in my way."

Bemused, and quietly scandalised, Isabella did as she was told.

"Now what?" she asked, all too aware that this was the first and no doubt _only_ time she would ever share a bed with a man.

"Lean over his body, and press one hand on his shoulder and the other on his elbow. I need you to keep his upper arm still. You can always lie on top of him if he becomes too restless."

"Now you're just being ridiculous," Isabella muttered.

Alice gave a slight shrug of one shoulder. "It's either that or tie him down."

Swallowing hard, Isabella leaned across the viscount's chest and carefully placed her hands on his burning flesh. He was dreadfully ill, not to mention unconscious _,_ but she couldn't help being mindful of the fact she had never been so close to a half-naked man before. Well, not such a prime physical specimen. Holding her breath so as not to accidentally brush her ample bosom against his skin, she focused on her duty.

Despite her friend's careful actions, the viscount grew restless, moaning as the stitches were painstakingly removed. When Alice probed the festering wound, he began to struggle in earnest.

"Keep still, my lord," Isabella said, her pleas proving fruitless. Somewhat disbelieving, she was eventually forced to lay across his torso to hold him in place. When her weight rested fully atop his sweat-slicked body, his eyes flickered open. His vision was glazed with fever and the effects of the sleeping draught.

"Stop torturing me, woman," he muttered from between clenched teeth.

"We're trying to help you," Isabella said.

The viscount studied her for a moment before turning to watch Alice remove a shard of metal from his wound.

Neither woman flinched at the curse that erupted from his lips. The poor man was well within his rights to be outraged at the incompetence of the surgeons who had sentenced him to an agonising death.

"How much longer?" he asked between panted breaths.

"Not long," Alice answered, allowing the wound to bleed freely for a moment to dislodge any remaining impurities. "I just need to redo the stitches and apply an herbal salve, then we will leave you to rest."

After a pause, he nodded. Isabella went to lift herself from off his body, but he held her to him with his fee arm.

"Don't," he said, his tone more plea than demand.

Isabella froze. "Very well," she said, more than a little perplexed. She could only assume her touch must comfort him in some way.

To his credit, the viscount kept his arm perfectly still as Alice re-stitched the wound, tugging the torn pieces of flesh together and threading them through with the curved needle and catgut she kept for the purpose. His agony was evidenced by the ragged breaths that caused his chest to heave beneath Isabella. Praying God would be merciful to the suffering man, she sagged with relief when his head lolled, and he succumbed to unconsciousness once more.

 **~P &P~**

Thank you for reading. I would love to hear your thoughts.  
xx Elise


	4. Torment

**Thank you all so very much for the kind words, recommendations and wonderful reviews you have given this story. You have made the start to 2018 a huge joy. My hubby asked why I was smiling so much, and he was so happy to hear my story is being read again. Yay!**

 **I've had quite a few readers ask if it is still possible to buy the ebook or paperback version of Passion and Propriety, but unfortunately, with TWCS closing, all my stories have been taken down from Amazon and all the other book-selling sites. Someone managed to find some second-hand paperback copies somewhere but the price was $400 which is patently ridiculous and I have no explanation for!**

 **I forgot to mention at the beginning of this story, but it is set in 1812, the Regency era. Now, time to hear from Edward again...**

 **xx Elise**

 **~P &P~**

 **Chapter 4**

 **Torment**

Edward was on fire, pinned down and unable to escape the burning pain.

The screams of men and horses rose above the heavy thud of the big guns spewing their deadly missiles. The battle for Arapiles, south of Salamanca, had begun well. The English-fired shrapnel, a new development, shifted the balance in the favour of the Anglo-Portuguese troops, but still their losses were great. Cut down by a spray of fragmented shell casings fired by the superior French guns, Edward's cavalry unit was decimated. His personal demons—images of his men, his _friends_ —swirled through his mind, their faces hovering before him. Then a real spectre appeared.

"We'll have to remove your arm, Captain."

The army surgeon loomed over him while the lantern above his head swung to and fro, in time with the familiar but unexpected sway of the ocean.

"He won't thank you," someone argued.

Edward's vision was too blurred to make out his advocate's more distant features.

"He's a _viscount._ He'll have your head if you don't gain his permission before amputating."

"I don't care if he's the Duke of bloody Wellington. It's the only way to save his life."

Edward felt steel cutting through his flesh.

"Not my arm!" he roared, struggling against their hold.

"Shh," a woman's voice soothed, her cool hand caressing his brow. "It's going to be all right."

His pride decimated by pain, Edward's demands turned to pleas. "Don't take my arm. Please, I beg of you."

"We're trying to save it." The unknown woman's voice was soft, in stark contrast to the vicious pain radiating from his limb.

"Just let me die."

"I can't do that. You must fight to live"—the sweet voice scolded before changing to that of his father's cruel tone—"but it would be better if you had never been born."

Edward flinched away from his sire's angry face. At least he had done one thing right, leaving no heir behind to bear the burden of the Masen Curse or hear such hateful words from a father.

 _God, have mercy,_ he prayed before realisation dawned that it was too late for supplication. The heat and pain were no less than he had been warned to expect, but the woman's presence confused him.

What was an angel doing here in hell?

"Bloody well leave me be, woman!" he shouted when her prodding and poking became too much.

"I'm trying to help you, my lord."

Warm brown eyes met his gaze on the rare occasion he could force his lids to open, but her gentle voice and soft smile didn't fool him. She was no angel, but a devilish imp allocated to his personal torment.

"You're a demon." He glowered at her when she insisted on bathing him and changing his sweat-soaked bedding, the jostling increasing his agony.

"And you're an impossible man, but we all have our crosses to bear."

Her tone was acerbic, which added to his confusion. Where the hell was his valet? Markham couldn't have been struck down in battle, as Edward had left him safely back at camp. Why, in God's name, was he being cared for by a woman? And not just _any_ woman—her voice was cultured, her demeanour marking her as a lady.

"You shouldn't be doing this," he said, but his concern for propriety gave way to panic when she turned to leave. "Wait!" He grabbed hold of her hand.

"It's all right. I'm not going anywhere."

Holding to her words like a talisman, he gripped her fingers with equal fervour. His uncharacteristic neediness would have appalled him . . . if any of this had been real.

Over and over, he returned to the war—different battles, different fields, but the sounds of gunfire and the smell of blood and death always the same. When it all became too much, his angel's voice drew him back to the bed where he lay in his father's room. How, in God's name, he had arrived at his abhorrent location he had no idea.

Pungent herbal aromas assailed his senses, but occasionally he would catch a whiff of the angel's scent _._ Floral but subtle, her fragrance was infinitely more appealing than the cloying perfumes used by the camp whores. Wives of common soldiers who had accompanied their men to war, now widows, they sold their bodies to survive. Unable to ignore the desperation on their faces, Edward had given them money on many an occasion, not for services rendered but to ease their suffering. While his peers had taken their pleasure without a thought, Edward's concern had been for the gaggle of ragtag urchins hanging off the women's skirts. Filling even one child's belly made it worth enduring the ribald comments about his tender-heartedness.

The occasions he had been sent to bed hungry as a boy were not ones he would forget in a hurry, even though they had not happened too often. His lot in life might have been bleak, but overall, he had been well fed and rarely beaten. What his childhood had lacked was familial kindness, a virtue his angel seemed to possess in abundance . . . when she wasn't torturing him. Edward feared her presence was part of his punishment, a taste of heaven to show him what he had missed, what he could have had, if not for the curse.

Agitated by the futility of his thoughts, he groaned with pain and regret. His angel wiped his brow, murmuring reassurances, and he vowed to moan more often. Her arm came around his shoulder, an added comfort, a guilty pleasure. Wanting to catch another glimpse of her, he tried to force his eyes open, but it was as if his lids were glued shut.

A woman's face floated before him, familiar and arresting. His angel? With hair the colour of chocolate shot through with fire, her strong but feminine features were those of a lady. Puzzled, he couldn't recall the manner of their acquaintance. It was unlike Edward to focus his attention too keenly on a female of his class. He kept his distance, appreciating their fear that his family's misfortune would rub off on them if they allowed him too close.

"We kill the ones we love, all except the spawn that live to perpetuate the travesty."

His father's bitter diatribes, the words the same whether spoken coldly sober or in one of his many drunken rages, echoed in Edward's fevered mind.

"It is all right, my lord. This will help ease your pain."

The woman's voice brought him back to the present, and he reached out to grasp her hand. Relief swamped him as her cool fingers entwined with his.

"I need you to raise your head for me," she said.

Too weak to resist, he allowed her to ply his lips with another foul-tasting draught. With his head resting against the cushion of her breasts, and her arms virtually embracing him, Edward took comfort in her presence. Although one thing bothered him. He knew he shouldn't complain, but surely an angel could have found something more tolerable for him to drink.

~P&P~

Isabella was exhausted, never having nursed such a difficult and demanding patient before. Considering he was barely cognisant most of the time, she tried not to blame him for his ill manner.

"It's not right that you should be caring for a gentleman by yourself," her father said, fretting when he came to check on her the day after the viscount's arrival. "But I've had no luck finding anyone to assist you. Unless I can guarantee payment, none are willing to visit the manor for a prolonged stay."

Isabella tsked. "Utter foolishness." In the decade since a goodly number of the village folk had lost their employment at the estate, despondency had set in. Now superstition overrode common sense.

"Will Mr Crowley not be persuaded to release the necessary funds? Surely he must realise how badly it will reflect upon him if his lack of action hinders the viscount's recovery?"

"I'm beginning to wonder if it might be in Mr Crowley's favour if the viscount did _not_ recover," her father said, his expression grim. "But that's neither here nor there, as the man is nowhere to be found. He informed his housekeeper he was going away on a business trip after the Sunday service, ostensibly on the viscount's behalf."

Isabella raised a brow. It would be interesting to discover just how many of Mr Crowley's callous directives had originated from his employer. She was beginning to think they might be few, if any.

"Don't worry about me, Papa. I'm more than capable of caring for His Lordship. As for propriety, I have Mr and Mrs Cope to assist me with the more intimate aspects of his nursing."

Isabella was pleased to have mollified her father's concerns, though she had no idea the dramatic change in circumstance that would confront her on the third day of her nursing duties.

"Mr Cope's knee 'as blown up like a bullfrog," Jacob, the Black boy, informed her in a breathless voice after running up the stairs the following day. "Said to tell ye all the trips up and down the stairs 'as brung on an attack of 'is rheumatism. Mrs Cope ain't in any better shape, neither. She's 'obbling around the kitchen, and 'er knuckles are all swollen."

"Oh, dear." Isabella sighed then assured the boy she would be down to check on the elderly couple shortly.

"You'll manage," Alice said when she stopped by to check on her patient.

"But I'll have to bathe, dress, and help toilet him alone."

Alice shrugged. "You've seen a naked man before, haven't you?"

"Well, yes, but old Mr Pettigrew is in his dotage, and I only got a glimpse of his, er . . . intimate region. It wasn't very pleasant to look at."

Alice snorted. "Something tells me you'll find His Lordship's intimate region a sight more appealing to the eye, or is that what's worrying you?"

"Of course not." Isabella crossed her arms, refusing to take the bait of her friend's provocation despite her misgivings.

"He's strongly built and has obviously maintained an active disposition." Alice observed the semi-naked viscount. "Probably has a lot to do with why he is still alive. It's hard to say what he looks like underneath all that hair, though. Pity about the scars."

"Alice!" Isabella gestured for her friend to lower her voice. "He might hear you."

"Oh, I think the viscount's heard much worse than that in his time." Alice shrugged again, a gesture considered unacceptable for a lady but one in which Isabella's friend now freely indulged. "He is almost as much of a societal pariah as I am. Of course, the toffs are happy enough to accept _my_ services when their gout is troubling them or they feel an attack of the quinsy coming on."

"That may well be." Isabella made allowance for her friend's bitter tone, brought on as it was by her cruelly reduced circumstance. "But the poor man deserves to be treated with dignity."

Alice studied her. "I hope you're not becoming attached. Nothing good could come of it."

"Now you're being preposterous." Isabella busied herself covering the viscount with the bedclothes that had been removed to aid Alice's examination. " _If_ he lives, which is highly doubtful," she added in a whisper, "and _if_ he is of a mind to find a wife, I can assure you it will not be me."

"Stop selling yourself short," Alice said, rebuking and defending her in the same statement. "You would make an excellent wife. It's not your fault gentlemen are fools, preferring malleable girls and financial gain to women of substance. All I'm saying is it's not uncommon for a patient to become enamoured with his nurse. You mustn't forget _why_ the viscount is a pariah."

Isabella blinked. "I thought you were a woman of science—well, _herbal_ science—not superstition. You believe in the Masen Curse?"

"Even your father believes in the curse, and he's a Christian minister." Alice picked at her fingernails but didn't rescind her warning. "We both know mothers die because of childbirth all the time. The fool physicians confine them to their beds for days if not weeks beforehand, robbing them of their strength. Then they insist the poor women deliver flat on their backs to make it easier to examine them. Add to that the repeated purges and bleedings they use as common practice, not to mention rejecting the herbal remedies that have helped labouring women for generations . . ." She threw up her hands in disgust.

Isabella nodded. "Precisely why I thought you would consider the curse to be nonsense. The viscount's mother probably died giving birth under a physician's care. Though I suppose his forebears would have been delivered with the aid of a midwife using the _old_ ways."

"My point. Regardless of the type of care they were given, we have five generations of women all dying after giving birth to their first born, a son each time. Twice in one family would not be inconceivable, three times ill-fortune. But five generations in a row? It's not natural."

The fire had long since chased the cold of old stone walls from the room, but a shiver ran down Isabella's spine.

"So, you believe any woman who marries the viscount will die in childbirth?"

"Don't you?"

It was Isabella's turn to shrug, her gaze returning to the viscount's less-than-civilised visage.

It seemed she wasn't the only one destined to spend her life alone, though at least she would not have a spouse's death on her conscience. Then again, neither would she ever have a child of her own.

 **~P &P~**

 **A few more answers and a few more questions.**

 **I'm so glad you are all enjoying my strong female characters. Alice, in particular, is not very canonish, but she's one of my favourites, as I've based her on my great grandmother who was a herbalist in the late 1800s. Interestingly, her name was Edith and her daughter, my much-loved grandmother, was named Alice. :)**

 **Any thoughts on how Edward will react when he finds out his 'angel' is both real and a lady?**

 **xx Elise**


	5. Miss?

**Welcome to all the new readers. Thank you so much for the wonderful reviews and to everyone who is recommending this story.**

 **The lovely Rory Cullen noticed that I said in my author note at the end of the last chapter that Isabella is a lady which, understandably, confused her a little. Isabella is not a 'Lady' (upper class L)in the titled sense of the word, as she is not a member of the aristocracy or nobility. As a minister's daughter, she is a 'lady' (lower class L) in the sense of being upper-middle or upper class, educated, and 'well bred'. I hope that makes sense. It was/is a ridiculous system of categorizing people by birth rather than merit.**

 **You like my strong women (yay! So do I!), you feel for Edward, though you have many questions regarding the curse, and we're all in agreement that being considered 'too old' at 27 is ridiculous. Now for the chapter many have been waiting for where Edward wakes up and discovers his 'angel' is all too real.**

 **xx Elise**

 **~P &P~**

 **Chapter 5**

 **Miss?**

Edward stared at the woman in the upholstered chair beside his bed. She was asleep. The gentlemanly thing would be to awaken her and inform her she need no longer watch over him, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Dragging his gaze away, he looked down at his arm. Having been told remaining alive and in possession of the limb were mutually exclusive propositions, he was surprised to find it still attached to his body. The wound was neatly bandaged and the pain, while ever present, was nowhere near as fierce as he recalled. He wiggled his fingers and was relieved when they responded, albeit weakly, to his command. The fire that burned up his arm at the movement discouraged further experimentation.

A feeble snort inflated his chest when he looked around, recognising the master suite at Masen Manor. Against all odds, he had made it all the way from the Iberian Peninsula. Recalling his unscheduled visit to the church in Forkton, his gaze returned to the sleeping woman. _Ah!_ He recalled her identity. She was the vicar's daughter, the one with the lovely voice. What on Earth was she doing by his bedside? Fanciful dreams must have interwoven with his nightmares, for it simply wasn't possible a lady had tended to him in the manner depicted by his fragmented memories.

A groan was all that escaped when he attempted to call for his valet or footman or whomever else should have been watching him in her place. Woken by the faint sound, the woman stretched like a cat. With her eyes still closed, she arched her back, causing her cream-coloured gown to cling to her feminine form. The sensuous action would have been indicative of poor schooling on her behalf—or the existence of a considerable degree of intimacy between them—if she was aware he was watching her.

She clearly was not.

Edward considered averting his gaze, but the image of her arms akimbo, putting her generous curves on display, was already seared into his brain. Looking away seemed pointless, though after a prolonged moment, he did manage to conjure a modicum of decency and cleared his throat to alert her to his cognizance.

Her eyes snapped open.

"You're awake."

She smiled, and impossible images bombarded his thoughts. He saw her nursing him, comforting him, lying across his body to restrain him whilst a green-eyed witch did despicable things to his wound. _Despicable things that appeared to have saved both his life and his arm_ , Edward mused, struggling to discern what was real and what must surely have been fever-induced imaginings.

"You must be thirsty. Let me get you a drink." The vicar's daughter stood and patted her hair into place. "Don't worry, it is laced with a little brandy. I have never known a gentleman to fuss so over drinking Adam's ale. You're not due for another herbal draught until tea time, so you can save your spitting and cursing."

Her words were preposterous, as a gentleman never spat or cursed when a lady was present. Unfortunately, Edward wasn't sure he had the strength to argue. After allowing her to assist him to a slightly more raised position, he sipped cautiously at the cup she brought to his lips.

"Why," he croaked, before trying again. "Why are you here?"

"I would have thought that was obvious, my lord," she said after removing the glass and then fluffing his pillows and smoothing the blankets into place.

"Where are the servants?" he asked, his voice fading to a whisper as he succumbed to the encroaching darkness.

The next time Edward opened his eyes, he was being force-fed a concoction so foul he re-examined his earlier opinion on when spitting might be appropriate. Holding the spoon to his lips, his tormentor was stroking his throat like he was a damned dog, encouraging him to swallow.

"Bloody hell, woman." He jerked his head away from her hands.

"And now with the cursing." She moved the spoon away with a sigh.

"I know it tastes dreadful, my lord," she said, her tone resigned rather than apologetic. "But it's for your own good _and_ appears to be working. You are looking a little better every day. Certainly much better this week than last."

This week? Her cream gown had been replaced by a plain but fetching blue, her hair fashioned in a braided coronet rather than the bun she was wearing the last time they spoke . . . whenever that might have been. Raising a hand to scratch his jaw, Edward froze when he encountered a full beard rather than the straggly scruff he recalled.

Ignoring his glower, his nursemaid brought the spoon back to his tightly compressed lips. Her shoulders drooped, and he noted there were shadows beneath her eyes.

"My lord, would you _please_ stop fighting me?"

Edward's conscience twanged, and he lifted his chin a fraction in the direction of the god-awful tasting medicine. "What's in it?"

He was rewarded by the lightening of her expression.

"An old but powerful recipe. Alice swears this tincture was used by grave robbers in France during the plague years. Grave robbers who _lived_ to enjoy their ill-gotten gains."

He snorted. "Grave robbers?"

"Infection has no respect for person, my lord." Her tone was prim, but he detected the hint of a smile.

Her summation was correct. Suffering and death cared not for human distinctions. If his family's history had not been sufficient to teach him that lesson, five years at war had pounded the truth home. Realising he was behaving like a petulant child, he opened his lips and allowed her to dose him with the vile concoction. Bitter and reeking of garlic, it did appear to be working—he was alive, after all, despite the odds—but he might have been more appreciative if the cure was not worse than the malady.

"Well done," she murmured when he finished the final drop, her smile reward enough to forgive the patronising tone. "How about some of Mrs Cope' beef broth to chase away the bitter taste? Now that your fever has broken, it is time we started building you back up again."

Unaware he had wasted away, Edward glanced down, relieved to note that, though thinner than usual, he was far from skin and bone.

While the vicar's daughter busied herself at the sideboard, removing a silver dome covering a bowl of what turned out to be a tasty soup, he attempted to marshal his thoughts. There were questions he wanted answered, but every time he came close to formulating one, she slipped another spoonful between his lips. He had never known the act of swallowing to take such effort and, halfway through the bowl, exhaustion overwhelmed him once more.

The next time he awoke, it was courtesy of the urging of his bladder. Though Markham would empty a chamber pot without complaint, Edward had preferred not to overburden his soldier-servant and made the walk to the latrines whenever possible. Doing so in the middle of the night was not his favourite pastime and, grumbling, he attempted to rise from his cot. Oddly, his body refused to obey. When he forced open his eyes, he was met with the view of a fire-lit bedroom rather than his neat but functional officer's tent.

 _What the devil?_

The memory of his current location and circumstances came back to him in a rush. His panic waned when he spotted the vicar's daughter, curled up in the padded chair beside his bed, reading a book. She was dressed in the pale-blue gown he recalled from the last time he had awoken, leading him to hope it was the same day.

"Excuse me, madam."

His rasped words drew her attention, and she stood.

"It is good to see you are awake again, my lord." She smoothed the hair from his brow, testing his temperature in the process. "No sign of fever. Do you think you could manage some more broth?"

"Please," he said before being forced to clear his throat. "Please call for my valet or a footman."

She raised her eyebrows. "It is just me, my lord, and the Copes. But I'm afraid the stairs were too much for them after the first few days."

Frowning, Edward tried to make sense of her words. His need was becoming urgent, and he moved restlessly upon the bed. Wanting to press upon his afflicted organ but unable to do so in front of a lady, his hand moved automatically in its direction.

Spotting the action, she pulled a face. "Oh, I see." Moving away from the bed, she returned with an oddly shaped bottle. Initially puzzled, he realised its purpose when she brought it to rest beside his leg, her hands moving to lower the bedclothes.

He grabbed her wrist. "What, in God's name, do you think you are doing?"

"Assisting you, of course."

"But you're a woman . . . a _lady_."

Her lips formed a determined line. "And the only person available, so let's not make a fuss, shall we? Don't worry. I've managed this a dozen times already."

His eyes widened in horror. "I am not concerned with your proficiency, madam. It is the impropriety of the situation that bothers me."

"Oh dear." She sighed and let the blanket drop. "You are lucid. It is to be expected now the fever is broken, but I dare say it's going to make things complicated."

"The situation isn't complicated, it is incomprehensible. Could you please explain to me why a lady would perform such an intimate task for an incapacitated gentleman?"

"An incapacitated _patient_ ," she said, "and not for any prurient reason that soldier's mind of yours might conjure."

Edward fisted his good hand in exasperation.

"I meant no disrespect, madam, but since I am now fully awake, I insist on having a male servant attend me."

His nurse took a moment to reply, her tone gentling. "I am sorry, my lord. I don't know if it is a result of the fever, but you appear to be suffering a delusion. Other than Mr and Mrs Cope—the elderly caretaker and his wife," she said carefully as if he wouldn't remember the couple who had practically raised him, "there are no other servants, male or female, at Masen Manor. They were all dismissed many years ago, not long after your father's funeral, in fact."

Edward stared unblinking. That was a decade ago. Whose wages had he been paying all these years?

The mystery would have to wait, his current dilemma taking precedence. If she was speaking the truth, and he could think of no reason for her to lie, there wasn't any other help to be found. To his shame, he wasn't sure he could manage alone in his weakened state.

"A dozen times, you say?"

"At least." She nodded. The colour staining her cheeks belied her imperturbability. He could only imagine an insensate patient was a tad easier to deal with than an indignant one.

"Very well, then." Gritting his teeth, he prayed his body wouldn't betray him. He had never had a woman's hands on him in an intimate manner, and her gentle if impersonal touch was unsettling to say the least. There was also the issue of her appeal. A compassionate woman, she had gone above and beyond even those duties expected of a vicar's daughter. Edward could only imagine her husband must be a curate, for it would take a far saintlier gentleman than he to allow his wife to care for another man in such a fashion.

"All set," she said after a moment that seemed to drag for an eternity. "I'll give you some privacy and be back to collect the bottle when you're finished. Do you think you will be able to manage alone?"

Stifling the urge to curse, again, he nodded. Relief flooded through him when she turned and left the room, although it didn't begin to drown out the sense of overwhelming shame.

A part of Edward wondered if he was still trapped in a nightmare or had been consigned to hell after all. Either option would have been more bearable than the situation in which he now found himself.

 **~P &P~**

"This is an outrage! Why wasn't I called sooner?"

Edward awoke to the sound of an argument being carried out above his head.

"We've been rather busy, doctor. It's not our fault Lord Masen's estate manager took this long to send for you."

"That's not good enough." The doctor's voice rose unbearably. "His Lordship should have been under the care of a physician, not a couple of ignorant misses plying him with useless herbal remedies."

"Useless remedies that have saved his life."

" _I'm_ the physician. _I_ shall be the judge of that."

"Actually, I believe I'm the best judge of whether or not my life has been saved," Edward muttered. The officious-looking doctor, whom he remembered none-too-fondly from his childhood, had unwrapped the bandage from his arm and was currently prodding at his wound. Batting the man's hand away, Edward sought his nurse's steady gaze. Relieved at her nearness, the tightness in his chest eased.

"Lord Masen, I am Dr Gerandy. I was your physician when you were a boy," the doctor said unnecessarily. "I was only recently apprised you had returned to Forkton and needed medical attention. I must say, I am appalled by the treatment, or the lack thereof, you have received. This . . . this . . . _woman_ "—he pointed to the dark-haired young lady standing at the end of the bed—"has admitted to performing what is tantamount to _surgery_ on your arm and has been dosing you with all manner of vile and useless concoctions."

"I merely cleaned the wound and removed metal shards and fragments of the viscount's uniform that had been left to fester." The woman's green eyes flashed. "The herbal remedies I prescribed have been used effectively by generations of healers."

"Old wives' tales," the doctor said with a sneer. "His Lordship should have been medicated with a mercury tonic to combat miasma and detritus _introduced_ to the wound to encourage seepage. It is the only way to promote healing."

"I was told the wound would not heal, that my only hope of survival was amputation." Edward studied his mangled but mending arm dispassionately. "While I won't dispute the concoctions have indeed been vile"—he shot a dark look at the vicar's daughter— "the care I have received at the hands of these two ladies appears to have accomplished what the army surgeons declared impossible." He returned his gaze to the physician, challenging him to deny the obvious.

"Infusions and herbal plasters are outmoded forms of treatment rejected by modern science, my lord," Dr Gerandy sputtered. "You need to be bled, immediately, and then purged, repeatedly."

Edward's eyes narrowed. "I believe I was sufficiently _bled_ on the battlefield."

As for purging, the thought of being forced to expel the bile from his stomach, when he was already weak as a kitten, was far from appealing.

"If you insist on continuing in the care of a couple of untrained, unmarried young _misses_ , this one"—the doctor pointed again to the green-eyed lady—"nothing more than a _midwife_ with a bag full of herbs, and this one"—he pointed to Edward's angel—"the vicar's spinster daughter, then I refuse to be held responsible for the outcome, my lord."

"Duly noted." Edward hid his reaction to the doctor's revelations and dismissed him with a flick of his fingers.

The man departed, muttering darkly, and Edward's unlikely healer redressed his wound. He paid little attention, his gaze fixed on the young lady who had nursed him proficiently, intimately, and single-handedly for God only knew how long.

She was a _miss?_

 **~P &P~**

 **Soooo...did that live up to expectations? Who else would like to be a fly on the wall when it's just the two of them, alone, again?**

 **xx Elise**


	6. Impropriety

**Thank you all so much for the wonderful support you are showing this story. You seemed to enjoy Viscount Masen's dismissal of the arrogant and ineffectual Dr Gerandy and his defence of Alice and Isabella's care. Many of you are eager to see Mr Crowley get his comeuppance, though that might take a while. For now, let's see Edward's response to the revelation that his nursemaid is a maiden!**

 **xx Elise**

 **~P &P~**

 **Chapter 6**

 **Propriety**

Isabella enjoyed seeing the viscount put the doctor in his place, his return to cognisance timely. She had been worried the physician would insist on inflicting one of his debilitating treatments on her patient, undoing all the good work they had accomplished.

Having spent years watching her mother suffer, Isabella's faith in the medical fraternity was not robust. In hindsight, she wished her father had put his trust in Alice's aunt, Edith, with her many decades of experience rather than so-called modern medicine. The never-ending stream of doctors had slowly bled both of her parents dry, her mother of her lifeblood and her father of the last of their meagre financial resources. Isabella doubted her mother could have been saved from the wasting disease that caused her death, but her final months might not have been so distressing if she had been given palliative care rather than constant purging and medicines that seemed to do more harm than good.

The viscount responded to Alice's report on the ongoing care of his wound with a nod. His only acknowledgement of Isabella's presence was the return of his glower. It was hardly surprising. The previous evening's encounter had been unsettling for them both. She had been relieved when he fell asleep halfway through his bowl of broth, though it had left unresolved the issue of her attending to his personal care. He seemed much stronger this morning, and she doubted he would be so easily diverted.

After Alice departed, Isabella feared the moment of reckoning had arrived. She could not deny nursing the viscount unaided and unchaperoned had stretched the bounds of propriety, but she hadn't been overly concerned before Dr Gerandy's arrival. In hindsight, maybe she should have worried a tad more. While her spinsterhood was universally accepted by those of her sphere, there were limits to how far she could stray from convention without censure, limits she feared she may have crossed.

Hiding her anxiety behind busyness, Isabella straightened the viscount's blankets.

"I hope the doctor didn't upset you with his prejudice, my lord. Alice's methods may be considered old-fashioned, but she is an excellent healer."

"That is not in question."

The viscount glanced at his arm before spearing Isabella with a look she imagined was designed to intimidate. It was frighteningly effective, no doubt honed during his years as an officer. Isabella's insides verily quailed.

"Though I dare say my recovery is in no small part due to _your_ diligent nursing?" he continued, his question seemingly rhetorical.

"Why, thank you, my lord. Is there anything you require?"

"Answers!" he barked, loud enough for her to flinch. "And no, I will not endure a vile dosing first, nor do I want another bowl of broth. Eggs, bacon, toast, even porridge would be preferable. I am a grown man, not a swaddled babe, and I require sustenance, but not before you tell me your name. Then I would like an explanation as to why I have been nursed by a . . . a . . . _miss . . ._ not a _missus_!" His voice rose with each word and would have ended on a shout if he had not been overcome by a painful bout of coughing.

"I have told you my name several times, my lord." Isabella raised a glass of water to his lips when he had calmed enough to drink. "It is _Miss_ Isabella Swan, a fact I have made no attempt to disguise."

"The vicar's daughter?" he managed to rasp.

"Yes. You and I played together as children."

"Should not you be wed with a family of your own by now? How old are you?"

Isabella paled. A gentleman never questioned a lady about her age, not once she was past her first bloom. Both embarrassed and indignant, she raised her chin.

"That is none of your concern, sir."

"It most definitely is when I discover the nurse who has been undressing, bathing, and bloody well manhandling me for the last ten days is not a married woman, with at least a modicum of experience, but an unwed young _maiden_!"

A blush heated Isabella's cheeks at the memories the viscount's words evoked, but she held his gaze . . . just. While undeniably masculine, whether awake or asleep, he had not seemed quite so intimidating when unconscious.

"I am a spinster of twenty-seven years, my lord," she said flatly. "Two years your senior and hardly what one would consider young."

"That is not the point. How, in God's name, could your father allow this? Does he know what you've been about?"

"Of course, he knows." Isabella glanced to the side.

"But he assumes you are being assisted by the Copes?"

"Well, yes, but as I explained last night, Mr Cope's knees gave out after the first few days, and Mrs Cope is in no condition to be running up and down the stairs—"

The viscount silenced her with a slash of his hand. "Then why didn't you find someone else to tend to my personal needs when it became apparent the Copes would be unable to assist you? Surely you appreciate the impropriety of the situation?"

Isabella exhaled a sharp breath, tired of being berated. "Of course I did, but hiring a male assistant was not an option, as I had no way of paying him."

"I would have reimbursed you."

"Excuse my bluntness, my lord, but upon your arrival the odds of your surviving to do so appeared unlikely. There was no one to be found, other than Alice, willing to venture up to Masen Manor on the promise of a payment I could not guarantee."

With an exasperated sigh, the viscount tugged a hand through his tangled locks. Isabella had taken the time to brush his reddish-brown hair each day. She had even given it a dry wash using oatmeal to cleanse it of the blood, dust, and debris that had been caked on for goodness knew how many days or weeks before his arrival _,_ but it still managed to resemble a haystack each morning.

"I fear your well-meaning but inappropriate actions have placed us both in an untenable situation, Miss Swan."

The viscount's sober announcement reminded her of the sour old Reverend Webber her father had replaced upon his death. The comparison was not flattering.

"Your reputation will be thoroughly compromised once word gets out," the viscount continued. "If it isn't already."

Isabella bristled, uncrossing her arms and placing her hands on her hips. One would think she had trapped him into an unwelcome betrothal.

"If I were not a spinster _,_ a fact you seem to have trouble comprehending, then your concern would be valid. But the only reputation I must protect is that of the vicar's dutiful daughter which, I can assure you, has been in no way compromised by my helping to save your life." She wasn't about to admit her doubts to such a boorish gentleman. "Would you have preferred I left you to die at your father's grave?"

Isabella regretted her words immediately, but before she could apologise he spoke.

"Why?" he asked, his tone more curious than demanding.

"Why didn't I leave you to die?"

"No." He waved his hand dismissively. "Christian charity alone would have compelled you to offer aid. Why are you a spinster?"

Appalled by his bluntness, any concerns she had regarding offending his sensibilities vanished.

"Why do you think?" she asked, her words all but stinging her tongue with their acerbity. If the dratted man thought she was going to spell out all the reasons she had been overlooked, he had a long wait in front of him.

"Was your beau killed in the war?" he asked, his audacity quite breath-taking. "Were you forbidden to marry? Your father seemed a reasonable sort to me, as did your mother."

"There was no beau, my mother is deceased, and my father _is_ a reasonable man who never would have stood in the way of my happiness. If you must know, the reason I never married is because I was never asked."

Over the previous ten days, Isabella had become a tad proprietorial in her thoughts towards her patient. She had even entertained the notion that caring for him was somewhat similar to having a husband of her own to fuss over. Apparently, spinsterhood wasn't the worst fate that could befall a young lady, as marriage to such a man would be intolerable. He wasn't only brutish in appearance, his manners were appalling, not to mention that he brought out the worst in her.

"I'm sorry to hear your mother has passed," he said after a moment, his contrite tone going some way towards mollifying her anger. "I remember her as a gracious lady."

"She was. I am sorry for my comment about leaving you to die, as you are right. My conscience never would have allowed me to do such a thing."

The viscount waved off her apology. "I don't mean to appear ungrateful for your efforts, nor am I questioning your capability—"

"But you would be more comfortable with a male assistant, a valet or the like, to help you with your personal needs."

Isabella sighed, the colour in the viscount's cheeks reminding her how mortifying the situation must be for him. Putting herself in his shoes, the thought of having a strange member of the opposite sex attending her intimately was shudder inducing.

"May I suggest a compromise, my lord?"

"You may."

"Now that you _are_ lucid and able to authorise the payment of wages, I am sure I will be able to find a suitable candidate for your personal care. Do you have anyone in mind for the role of valet?"

His brow furrowed in thought. "I would like you to send for my soldier-servant, a Corporal Jenks. He is due for discharge and will gladly accept the opportunity to continue in my service."

Isabella had her doubts. Lord Masen had not been the easiest of patients, and she could only imagine what sort of an officer he had been.

"You have an opinion?" He too-accurately read her expression.

"Not at all." She had no desire to rekindle their conflict but was unable to fully hold her tongue. "One can hardly blame a man for things said and done when not in full possession of his wits."

The viscount sputtered, triggering another bout of coughing. Raising the glass to his lips, silencing any protest he might have been about to utter in the process, Isabella contemplated how to solve their more immediate dilemma. Truth be told, she was relieved she would not be required to assist him with his personal care for much longer.

"How soon before you can employ a footman or some such to assist me?" he asked after pushing the glass away.

"Not soon enough, I fear." Isabella discerned at least one cause for the man's less-than-genial disposition. He had been plied with both broth and herbal tincture the evening before, and she imagined the need to relieve himself was pressing. "You seem much stronger this morning." She gestured to the bottle designed for the purpose of a man relieving himself while abed. "Do you think you could manage alone while I organise a more substantial breakfast?"

He nodded brusquely, making no comment when she placed the bottle within reach of his good arm.

"I will return shortly, and please, if you _do_ need my assistance, don't hesitate to ask."

After gathering the tray with the broth she had intended offering for his breakfast, she headed for the door.

"There is something," the viscount said, and Isabella turned back to face him. "From some of your comments I infer that, in the minds of the locals, the reach of the Masen Curse has extended?"

"I am afraid you are correct, my lord. The curse is now perceived to affect visitors to the manor, not just those who bear its name. Although prompt payment of wages should allay any concerns," she added wryly.

"I imagine it might also help if the lord of the manor was not quite so beastly in appearance?" he asked, stroking the ragged beard that contributed significantly to the image he described.

"It might."

Isabella had come to the same conclusion, not that she would have voiced it if he hadn't raised the topic.

"Well, there's nothing to be done until Markham arrives. Hopefully I won't frighten the locals too badly with my untidy countenance."

Being of two minds, Isabella hesitated. "I have experience with a straight blade, my lord, and have been known to give a passable haircut when the barber is unavailable." Or when her father's parishioners were unable to afford the fee.

The viscount's eyes widened, his bemusement understandable. Gentrified young ladies normally did not own to such experience.

"You are a woman of unexpected talents, Miss Swan."

"If you would prefer, I could arrange for the barber from Thornton to make a visit, but it probably won't be for a few days."

"I'd rather get cleaned up before I meet any prospective employees," the viscount said before eyeing her tentatively. "Would it be asking too much?"

"I wouldn't have offered if I minded," she said, more curtly than she had intended. The man's contrariness made it difficult to keep up.

"Thank you."

He nodded stiffly, and Isabella sighed. It must be galling to request her help after denouncing her participation in his care.

"You will be doing me a favour, my lord. It will make it easier for me to rub the comfrey and witch hazel unguent into the scar on your face if it is not covered in hair. It has worked wonders on your leg."

"You have been massaging ointment into my upper thigh?"

His tone was appalled, and Isabella regretted her admission. She opened her mouth to justify her necessary actions, but before she could speak, he flopped back against the pillow and covered his eyes with his good arm.

"Oh, never mind," he muttered.

While Isabella understood his mortification, she would have thought a man who had spent so many years in the rough and tumble of the military would be a tad less concerned with propriety.

 **~P &P~**

 **A little progress...maybe? I do love hearing your thoughts.**

 **xx Elise**


	7. Unsettling

**A/N  
Thank you all, again, for the love you are showing this story. We are up to 1400 readers and almost 80 of you are taking the time to review! I very much appreciate the longer reviews filled with your thoughts on the characters, incredible insights into where the story is going (although I may just be predictable!) and tales from your own lives. As a reader and reviewer of many, many stories, I know how daunting it can be to come up with something meaningful to say at the end of every chapter. As an author, I would like to assure you that I ****am equally grateful for the reviewers who just post a smiley face or give a one word review, such as 'thanks' or 'good'. Every review is acknowledgement of a chapter both read and, hopefully, enjoyed and puts a big smile on my face. :D**

 **Thanks for all the well wishes. Hubby and I had a lovely little beach holiday in Busselton, West Australia. I hope all my friends in the north are keeping safe and warm.**

 **xx Elise**

 **~P &P~**

 **Chapter 7**

 **Unsettling**

Edward had never spoken harshly to a lady before and could only put his behaviour down to the fact he was embarrassed beyond measure, amongst other things. He could not get the image of her touching him out of his mind. To his chagrin, desire curled low in his belly. The mere thought of her fingers massaging his wounded thigh had an unexpected effect on his no-longer-dormant body. While the muscles in his leg did feel less cramped, another part of his anatomy was anything but relaxed. He could only be grateful it had not come to life sooner.

Between his unwelcome heritage ruling out any meaningful dalliance and his years spent in military duty, Edward was accustomed to suppressing his primitive urges. When that wasn't possible, he dealt with them in a perfunctory manner. Considering the severity of his illness, he supposed he should be relieved his body was still capable of a response, not that he would act upon it nor the attraction that inspired it. Miss Isabella Swan, the vicar's daughter, was a wholly unsuitable candidate for both his interest and his nursing care.

Recollecting her assisting him with his toilet the evening before soon doused his body's inappropriate inclinations. It had been bad enough to discover the person who had tended to his _every_ need was a lady. That she was married woman but a maiden was a hell of a shock. What he could not understand was why she had never received a proposal. Were the gentlemen hereabouts all imbeciles?

Miss Swan might not be a great beauty, but she was hardly unappealing. He thought her features handsome and her brown eyes exceptionally fine. Not excessively thin like some of the debutantes he had observed in town during the season, she seemed an acceptable size for a grown woman, with curves in all the right places. Curves he had no right to be thinking about now that he knew she was available.

In his fleeting lucid moments, Edward had allowed himself the indulgence of appreciating his nurse's appearance, believing both well protected by his imminent demise and her state of matrimony.

But he had not died.

She was not married.

And she had both seen and touched his naked body.

Groaning, he wished for a return to insensibility, but despite feeling enervated by the altercation with the feisty Miss Swan, sleep eluded him. Maybe that was it? Her bold manner must have frightened away prospective beaux. Some gentlemen were put off by that sort of thing. Not him, as he was more than capable of standing his ground and rather impressed by a woman who could hold hers.

His nurse's expression was guarded when she returned bearing a covered tray, but Edward held off making further apology. Hoping a friendlier manner would suffice, he attempted a smile. It soon faded when she retrieved the blasted bottle he had recently made use of, both their cheeks flaming as she carried the offending utensil from the room. For an experienced officer of His Majesty's Fusiliers, accustomed to commanding men and confronting the enemy, it was humiliating to be so thoroughly discomposed by the equivalent of a bedpan in the hands of a lady.

A relatively young lady.

However she might describe herself, a doughty old spinster was not what came to mind when Miss Swan re-entered the room. Sighing, Edward couldn't deny he found her damnably attractive.

"Hopefully this will be more to your liking, my lord."

She set the breakfast tray upon his bedside table, and his discomfiture worsened. While a lowly vicar's daughter would not normally move in the same circles as a viscount, she was still of the gentry and should not be required to wait on him.

"Thank you," he said when she assisted him to a sitting position. To his chagrin, she did all the lifting while he panted for air. Adding to his shame, he doubted he had the vigour to do justice to the meal he had demanded she provide. The coddled eggs, toast, and tea looked inviting, but there was no way he would be able to feed himself without spilling the majority down his still-bare chest. He must remember to request a nightshirt. Unwilling to admit raising the fork to his mouth was beyond him, he waved a hand ineffectually.

"Would you like me to assist you, my lord? Just until you are a little stronger?"

Nodding with a mixture of reluctance and relief, Edward concluded that Miss Swan might not be of the nobility, but she was a woman of class. He was tempted to grant her permission to call him by his Christian name, as she had when they were children, but quickly discounted the possibility. It would indicate a degree of familiarity between them he dared not allow. Once considered, though, the thought of his name upon her lips was enticing. His men had called him captain. Those peers with whom he presumed a friendship, Masen. But no one had called him Edward in over a decade.

Careful not to jostle his arm, Miss Swan took a seat on the edge of the bed, her hip scant inches from his own. He recalled her sitting beside him when he had awoken to find her forcing foul-tasting medicines down his throat. If normal societal rules applied, the position would be considered too familiar, but he made no comment, meekly opening his mouth. Being fed like an infant should have heaped even more shame upon his head, but Edward was too weary to care. Her matter-of-fact demeanour helped, as did the one-sided conversation she maintained while he summoned the strength to chew and swallow.

"Tis a lovely spring day outside." She gestured to where the open curtains allowed pale, golden light to spill across the carpeted floor. He could just make out a splash of blue sky through the lace that covered the panes, a rarity even at this time of year.

"As soon as you are feeling up to it, we shall get you outside to enjoy the fresh air."

He didn't have the heart to tell her he had had his fill of the hot sun and cloudless days on the peninsula. For longer than he cared to recall, he had been yearning for good, old English drizzle.

"The gardens are in a dreadful state, I'm afraid, having been neglected for so many years," she continued. "The Copes were able to maintain only a small, home garden. But the view across the lawn—well, more of a field now, I suppose—to the lake is quite lovely. Wild flowers have sprung up here and there, and some hardy climbing roses have managed to survive, so there is a little colour."

Her words puzzled him until he recalled the missing servants, hence the neglected estate. He should question her further, begin to deal with matters, but the lethargy stealing over him made speech impossible. That and her plying his mouth with tasty morsels whenever he opened his lips.

"I have sent word to the village and surrounds that the estate is hiring."

While grateful she had taken the initiative, he wondered how he was supposed to manage overseeing such a task.

"My sister, Rosalie, has agreed to interview the applicants," Miss Swan said in answer to his unspoken question. "She volunteers at the orphanage in Thornton and has some experience dealing with staff, so you can trust her judgement. If we offer work trials for the most suitable applicants, you can make the final decision regarding whom you want to keep on when you are feeling a little stronger. Does that meet with your approval?"

He nodded, relieved she had matters in hand.

"If you give me the address, I'll write and send for Corporal Jenks. There is someone I have in mind to assist you until he can arrive, but I'm not sure you'll find him acceptable."

Edward raised a brow, the only query he could muster.

"Seth Dawkins, the draper's son, lost several fingers in service to the king. He is a bright young man and had hoped to work as a footman at the Westcotts' estate after his return from the war, but Lady Westcott insists on only able-bodied servants—"

"Send for him," Edward whispered.

Miss Swan's smile was blinding, and he blinked, dumbly opening his mouth when she raised the cup for him to take a sip of tea. Then her expression turned contemplative.

"What is it?" He gestured with his good hand for her to continue.

She drew in a deep breath, which expanded the bodice of her gown, drawing his eye.

"There is much unemployment and hardship in the district," she said, refocusing his attention. "Through the vicarage, we try to support the returned servicemen. The able-bodied ones can find work in the mines, or seasonally on the farms when they are hiring, but those who have been injured, who have lost a limb or been left with permanent scarring . . ."

"You think I'll be sympathetic to their plight?"

His tone was deliberately provoking, and she blushed, just as he had hoped. He liked the way the colour rose in her cheeks and flushed her upper chest.

"Some of the men are quite capable of working, my lord. I wasn't meaning you should offer them charity."

"Hire them." He gestured to his own scarred face and wounded limbs. "The more the merrier."

Her smile was dazzling, and he was pleased to have inspired it. The moment passed, and she brought a spoonful of egg to his lips. Weary beyond words, he turned his head to the side.

"No more," he mouthed.

"You have done well," she said, setting the tray aside. "I am surprised you've stayed awake this long, as you have had a very full morning for a man so recently returned to the land of the living."

He huffed a feeble breath but didn't dispute her assessment.

"Mrs Cope is in a cooking frenzy now she knows you are awake, so you will have ample opportunity to indulge your appetite as it returns. You should regain your strength in no time."

Edward hoped Miss Swan was right, for there were numerous matters requiring his attention.

Thank God, the Copes were all right, but he couldn't help worrying about the rest of the staff. Crowley would pay for his perfidy, though Edward couldn't help feeling ashamed he had not once returned to check on the people who had tried to protect him when he was a boy.

"It is time you rested."

Edward raised a brow at the firmness of Miss Swan's tone, not that he had any intention of arguing. His shoulder had begun to throb, and he gladly allowed her to lower him upon the bed.

"Seth will be here to assist you when you awake," she added once he was settled.

"What about you? When I wake," he clarified when she frowned. "Will you be here?"

"I am afraid so, my lord," she said, her words clipped. "You will need someone to manage your medicines and see to your dressings, but I will stay out of your way as much as possible. The Copes need my help, although that will change once the estate is fully staffed, of course."

She went to move away, and he grasped her hand, using his injured arm without thinking. It was a relief to know the limb still worked, in a fashion, but the action was premature, and he groaned in pain.

"Careful," she murmured.

"I wasn't saying I wanted you gone," he managed to utter from between clenched teeth.

She placed his arm back by his side, but didn't unlink their hands. "I will stay for as long as you need me."

"Does the offer of a shave and haircut still stand?" he asked, inwardly berating himself. Having one's face shaved was an intimate act, and allowing her to perform the service was clearly unwise. Still, he could not bring himself to retract his words.

"How about we tackle your transformation when you are feeling a little stronger?"

Relief and fatigue overwhelmed him in equal measure. She released his hand and brushed his hair away from his forehead, presumably to see if his fever had returned. Her touch was cool and comforting. Like a mother's . . . or a lover's. He had had neither so could only assume.

"Thank you, Isabella," he murmured, giving in to the temptation to speak her name aloud as sleep overcame him.

 **~P &P~**

 **Poor Edward. It's hard to imagine never hearing your own name.**

 **I have a question for my faithful reviewers. I love replying to reviews, but it takes me a few hours to get through the 60 plus reviews I am receiving for each chapter (squee!) Unfortunately, now that I am back at work (sigh) my time is shorter. I will, of course, always reply to answer questions and to anyone who wants to engage in a chat, which I love and will always find time for. But I was wondering if you would prefer I updated more frequently? If I were to update daily (whenever possible) would you lovely people still share with me your thoughts (or smiley faces, I like them too!) even if I don't always reply?**

 **xx Elise**


	8. Speculation

**You guys are amazing! The consensus is in, and more frequent updates is/are (?) overwhelmingly preferred to my answering every review (though I can't resist replying where I can). I do appreciate your insights, comments, smiley faces and simple 'thank you's. Many of you said how you felt for Edward wanting to hear his name on her lips, his loneliness - and Isabella's - quite palpable. I'm glad you're enjoying their sparring back and forth and the thoughts behind their words. There is more to come! Many readers think a proposal might be imminent, but we shall have to wait and see . . .**

 **xx Elise**

 **~P &P~**

 **Chapter 8**

 **Speculation**

Isabella's breath hitched. The viscount's use of her Christian name was unexpected. Remaining beside the bed, she allowed herself a few minutes to watch over her, now sleeping, patient.

The man's moods were certainly mercurial. One moment, he was lambasting her for improper behaviour; the next, he was practically begging her not to leave his side. He had acted in a similar manner when consumed by fever, vacillating between accusing her of torturing him and mistaking her for a celestial being. As for his language, she had no idea what some of the curses he used meant and no means to satisfy her curiosity. Repeating the undoubtedly profane phrases was not an option if she wanted to maintain her social standing, such as it was.

She supposed his behaviour was not all that surprising, considering what she knew of his childhood. Life had been far from easy for the sad-eyed boy who had occasionally joined Isabella and her sisters in their play. Despite inheriting a lofty title, and wealth almost beyond her imagining, the price he paid for such privilege was high.

Even before her mother fell ill, Isabella's family had experienced its share of sorrows, her parents having lost two sons between Isabella's birth and those of her much younger sisters. Money was never plentiful. Her father, a youngest son, had little to his name other than his education and calling, while her mother's modest settlement had been eaten up by the cost of her illness. What her parents _had_ possessed in abundance were warmth and affection, and they shared them unstintingly with their children.

The viscount, on the other hand, was born into a family blighted by tragedy. His grandfather, like his father before him, had ruled over his empire like a feudal lord. With a vicious temper, inflamed by his taste for hard liquor, he had lashed out at anyone who displeased him, none more so than his only child, Edward's father. After transacting matrimony with his highborn wife in exchange for rescuing her family's impoverished estate, the intemperate lord had possessed little patience when it came to the son she had born him at the expense of her own life.

After his grandfather's death in a riding accident, Edward's father, the _fifth_ Viscount Masen, had spent vast sums of money seeking an end to the curse that labelled him a pariah in polite society. A steady stream of Eastern mystics, self-confessed clairvoyants, and practitioners from a variety of religions had visited the manor, one eventually convincing its incumbent lord his wish had been granted . . . in exchange for a hefty fee, of course. When, despite all his efforts, the wife he had purchased succumbed to childbed fever after Edward's birth, the fifth Viscount Masen gave himself over to licentious living.

Isabella regretted not speaking to Edward at his father's funeral. She had barely recognised the tall young man he had become during his years away at boarding school, and his coolly distant expression had robbed her of courage.

"He never had a childhood, poor lad," Mrs Cope had told Isabella a few nights earlier while she'd been eating her supper in the kitchen. "His nannies never stayed long, driven away by 'is father's temper and roving 'ands. The last one left when the master was only four, but 'is father refused to employ another. Said the boy was old enough to fend for 'imself."

"At four years of age?" Isabella hadn't bothered to hide her outrage. "But he was still an infant. Who cared for him?"

"We all did our bit," Mrs Cope had said with a sigh. "But we 'ad to be careful. If the viscount got wind we were spoiling the lad in any way, 'e'd go into a terrible rage. We'd cop such a tongue lashin', but it was poor, wee Edward who bore the brunt of 'is anger. 'is Lordship chose the 'arshest of taskmasters to tutor the boy and then sent 'im off to school when 'e was only ten, refusing to let the lad come 'ome, 'cept for Christmas. Not that there was much celebratin' done . . . well, not the sort suitable for a child to witness. After 'is father died, and Mr Crowley took over, Edward was sent back to school and we never 'eard from 'im again. Can't say I blame 'im. Who'd want to come back to this gloomy old pile of stones after that?"

Who indeed, Isabella had mused, returning to her patient's side even more determined to take excellent care of him. Of course, it had been easier when he wasn't conscious and complaining about her presence.

"Edward," she whispered, allowing herself the use of his name as he had hers. Alice's warning about a patient becoming infatuated with his nurse echoed in Isabella's thoughts. Used to scrupulous honesty in all her dealings, she acknowledged the risk ran both ways. While he could hardly be considered handsome, there was something about the viscount that called to her feminine instincts. A man of his station would never be interested in a woman such as herself, of course. But he did have a way of looking at her, intently, as if she was _important_ to him.

After a little pondering, she discerned where his need lay. Deprived of mothering as a boy, the viscount craved mature, nurturing female companionship. Relieved to have solved the puzzle, Isabella smoothed back his overlong fringe from his forehead. It was only temporary, but she was happy to fill such a place in his life—that of an older sister. They might even become friends if he could learn to control his abominable temper.

 **~P &P~**

When Isabella returned the viscount's breakfast tray, she discovered her father and sisters, sitting at the kitchen table with the Copes. Ignoring a sudden bout of squeamishness, she formed her lips into a smile. Her family and the Copes weren't alone; two girls she recognised from the village were peeling vegetables and washing dishes under Mrs Cope's supervision.

Isabella's sisters, Rosalie and Tanya, had visited several times since she had come to stay at the manor, curious to discover how their older sister was faring and relaying suitably reassuring messages to their father. He had been unable to visit again, busy seeing to the needs of his parishioners, needs that typically would have been brought to his eldest daughter.

"Isabella, are you absolutely sure the viscount is going to survive?" Rosalie asked the minute she walked into the room. "Applicants are lining up at the gates to fill the roles I've advertised, but I don't want to hire on any more workers if we can't guarantee payment."

Isabella sighed at her golden-haired sister's typical bluntness. A lack of dowry was not the only impediment to Rosalie's finding a suitable husband.

"Alice believes the worst is over," Isabella said. "The viscount's fever has broken, and he has given tacit approval for the hiring of staff." Specifically, a man to assist him in her place, but she didn't elaborate with her father present. "As to _when_ wages will be paid, there may be some delay. I am assuming His Lordship will have to contact his lawyers to organise funds, as he only had a small purse on him when he arrived. Mr Crowley has access to estate funds, but I'm not sure how long he will be employed considering he appears to have been acting without approval. Lord Masen doesn't seem to have any idea what's been going on."

"How could he not know?" Tanya asked.

Isabella had no answer for her youngest sister. Still just a girl when their mother became ill, Tanya had grown into a beautiful young woman with features more delicate than Isabella's. She didn't begrudge either of her younger sisters their beauty, but she did worry about Tanya's lack of decorum.

"The viscount has only been awake for short periods of time," Isabella reminded them. "I have not had the opportunity to question him further."

"I am sure we'll receive answers in good time." Her father rose to give Isabella a hug. "We have missed you at home," he added, his gaze uncertain. "Mr Cope has been telling me how poorly he and Mrs Cope have been and how they wouldn't have managed without you. Something about the stairs being too much for them?"

"But we _have_ managed, haven't we?" Isabella looked to her assistants, willing them to mirror her rapid nods. "And Jacob has been a great help." Truth be told, she hadn't felt confident about giving the nine-year-old too much responsibility, certainly nothing involving the care of the viscount. "Anyway, it is not for much longer," she said, taking a seat at the table and hoping her next words would alleviate her father's concerns. "His Lordship has asked me to send for his military valet _and_ given approval for us to hire Seth Dawkins as interim valet until Corporal Jenks arrives."

"That is excellent news." Her father's face lit with a broad smile, and Isabella breathed a quiet sigh. The Dawkins were valued members of the parish, and the extra income, not to mention the opportunity for their son to find respectable employment in spite of his war injuries, would be greatly appreciated.

"Will the viscount keep Seth on after his valet arrives?" Rosalie asked.

"He said he will, and any other wounded soldiers we employ, as long as they prove themselves reliable and able to do their work in a timely fashion."

"I told ye 'e weren't like 'is father, God rest 'is soul." Mrs Cope turned to the village girls who had paused in their work to listen in. "Ye can tell yer mothers ye 'ave nothing to fear from the new viscount. 'e's a true gentleman, ain't 'e, Miss Isabella?"

"Absolutely," Isabella said, choosing not to mention his, at times, colourful speech. Despite his shortcomings, she didn't believe the viscount was a violent man, nor one to take advantage of those who served him. Although she might have crossed her fingers behind her back when offering her assurances.

"I've made a list of the staff we'll need for now." Mr Cope gestured to a sheet on which Rosalie was making notes. "A 'andful each of maids and footmen, another cook to assist Mrs Cope, kitchen 'ands, a laundry woman, a stable-boy, and sundry gardeners and 'andymen to start cleaning up the place."

Mr Cope's eyes gleamed, and Isabella imagined he was picturing the glory days when the estate was a hive of activity.

"We'll need a butler, a stable master, a head gardener, and a new 'ousekeeper. I'm a little old for the post." Mrs Cope smiled sadly. "We'll probably 'ave to advertise in the city to find senior staff."

"All those people to care for one man?" Tanya's eyes widened. "He must be terribly spoiled."

"Not at all." Isabella struggled to keep the ire from her tone, as her patience with her sister wore thin. "The viscount has been in the military for some years and is undoubtedly used to considerable deprivations. I am sure he is quite capable of taking care of himself with only a minimum of assistance."

"But an estate this size takes an army of people to run properly," her father pointed out.

"Oh, aye." Mr Cope nodded. "If 'is Lordship is keen to re-establish the stables, cultivate the farmland, and see the 'erds built up again, we'll need a whole 'ost of workers. Then there's the staff needed to open the guest wing for visitors and the ballroom for entertaining, though I imagine 'e'll want to see it renovated first. It will be boom time for the village, that's fer sure."

"Will he be able to afford to do all of that?"

Rosalie's question earned a reproving look from her father, as it was considered rude to discuss another person's wealth . . . or lack thereof. Not that that stopped most people from speculating, regardless of their place in society.

"The estate has lain dormant these many years," Rosalie continued, unrepentant. "It's a wonder the viscount didn't question the lack of income."

"I don't think Mr Crowley could be bothered with the farming side of things," Mr Cope said. "Crops and animal 'usbandry are a tricky business, and 'e could 'ave easily come up with all manner of excuses for the lack of returns. I suspect 'e's been pocketing the money wot was supposed to go on wages, improvements, and the like while flogging those mines up in the 'ills, and opening more. I'd be surprised if the viscount knows about 'alf of them, despite the fact they're on 'is land."

"They're disgraceful places." Tanya pulled a face, but rather than rebuke her, Isabella reached across the table and covered her sister's hand. It was true, and she shuddered at the thought of the harsh conditions endured by the workers in the mines, many of them children.

Rosalie scowled. "If the viscount has condoned the way they have been managed all these years, then he is no better than his father or grandfather before him. Didn't anyone ever try to contact him and tell him what was going on?"

"Many times," Mrs Cope and the vicar said in unison.

"But the letters had to go through Mr Crowley," Isabella surmised with a sigh. "I'm sure the viscount will make changes for the better now he is aware of what has been occurring. Once he is fully recovered," she added, hoping he wouldn't let them down.

Edward had stayed away for ten long years, only returning because he had thought he was going to die. Not that she blamed him. Added to the misery he had been forced to endure in his home, the local society had treated him with disdain when he was a boy, a fact she found reprehensible. She would just have to convince him that people had changed, that his presence was welcome, and that it was worth investing his time and finances into the community that had previously caused him nothing but grief.

Isabella crossed her fingers again as she considered the likelihood of her potential assurances coming to pass. With the memory of his forebear's abusive leadership, and Mr Crowley's harsh management, fresh in the minds of the locals, they might take some convincing that the new viscount was to be trusted. The curse hanging over his head was hardly an inspiring legacy, and Isabella wondered if he would regret his return to Masen Manor, that's if he chose to stay. He might yet decide to turn his back on them all once more.

 **~P &P~**

 **A bit of a filler chapter but necessary to set the scene. My mind boggled when I researched how much staff it took to run a grand country estate, all for the benefit of a handful of gentry or nobility. It would have been like operating a 6 Star Hotel for only a few guests. No wonder the Copes couldn't keep up with the place! Crowley sure has a lot to answer for, but I honestly can't remember what happens with him, so I am as eager as you guys to keep reading and find out. If I'm honest, I am even more eager to see Edward and Isabella navigate their burgeoning friendship. Fun times ahead!**

 **Thank you, thank you, thank you for everyone who has taken the time to review. Smiley faces all round. :) :) :) :)**

 **xx Elise**


	9. Responsible

**I'm loving your thoughts on this story. I can't help chuckle at how many of you are noticing Twilight 'canon' aspects to the characters or how much it is reminding some of you of Pride and Prejudice. All I can say, is I have read and viewed both tales so very many times that they must have embedded themselves in my subconscious, as the similarities were unintentional!**

 **This next one is a longer chapter than usual and one of my favourites. :)**

 **xx Elise**

 **~P &P~**

 **Chapter 9**

 **Responsible**

Edward felt much better when he next awoke, although Miss Swan's absence from her usual place in the chair beside his bed was not ideal. He scanned the room and found it empty, the possibility he might have frightened her off with his less-than-affable manner causing his heart to pound. Then he recalled her promise to introduce the injured soldier who would be acting as his temporary valet and to continue with her nursing duties. Of one thing he was certain. Miss Swan was not the sort to abandon her post.

 _Isabella._

In the privacy of his thoughts, he would allow himself the indulgence of using her Christian name. He liked the sound of it just as he greatly admired its owner. He should have insisted she leave as soon as his new assistant arrived rather than practically begging her to stay. But he was a long way from being fully recovered, and she _had_ said she was the only one who could be trusted with his medications—disgusting concoctions though they were—and the care of his rapidly healing wound. As long as he had a suitable helper for dealing with his personal needs, he could see no harm in her monitoring his recovery. Well, none he was willing to admit to at any rate.

While restlessly awaiting her return, Edward's body began to make one of those personal needs known. Having eaten solid food again, after goodness knew how long, it was to be expected that his digestive processes would be activated. Unfortunately, he doubted his ability to make it to the privy closet at the far end of the exceedingly long hallway outside the master suite. Truth be told, he doubted he could make it to the bedroom's door.

It was a pity he had not had the place renovated during his absence, as a modern bathing room situated next to the master suite would be appreciated about now. He would have to inquire into having one built. While he was at it, he would see about fixing up the old pile.

The thought brought Edward up short.

He wasn't going to die.

Neither would he be returning to his life in the army.

His injured leg would have seen him discharged months before if he hadn't stubbornly refused. There was no way they would take him back with an arm that barely functioned.

It had not been his intention, but he had, in effect, returned to Masen Manor . . . to _live_.

Groaning with the pain that movement engendered, Edward used his good arm to drag himself upright and then swung his legs around to place his feet on the floor beside the bed. His head swam, and his breath came in harsh pants.

"Lord Masen, what are you doing?"

His joy at Miss Swan's return was tempered by his predicament. To be observed by a lady in such a debilitated and barely dressed state was humiliating in the extreme.

Paying no heed to decorum, she rushed to his side and placed an arm around his naked waist. Rather than rebuke her, his lips remained sealed, while his traitorous body revelled in her nearness.

Lord, she smelled good.

He, however, did not.

"I need a bath," he muttered. And a nightshirt, and a shave, and a hearty meal, if he could stay awake long enough to do it justice.

"Is that why you were trying to get up?"

This close, he could see flecks of gold in her brown irises and faint laugh lines at the corners of her lovely eyes. Isabella did not possess the childlike look of a young debutante embarking on her first season, but she had qualities he much preferred—character, intelligence and, he suspected, a wry sense of humour. For the moment, she was regarding him with concern.

"Seth Dawkins has arrived and is settling into the servants' quarters. I could ask him to arrange a bath, but it will take time for the water to be heated and carried upstairs. We'll need to locate the tub used by your father and see it is cleaned."

"It can wait until later," Edward said between still heavy breathes. He blamed them on having pulled himself upright, though he couldn't deny Isabella's proximity may have played a part. "To be honest, I'm not sure I'm up to a full bath. I was just commenting on my less-than-fresh aroma."

"I could give you a sponge bath?"

Edward's eyes widened. His mind filled with images of her hands on his body, some from mortifying memory and others conjured by his, suddenly, fertile imagination. After nursing him back to life, was she trying to kill him?

"I understand you have concerns about your modesty, my lord, and rightly so," she added at his pained look. "If you would prefer, I could ask Mr Dawkins to assist you?"

"Yes, but I want you to give me my shave," Edward said, his good sense deserting him. "I don't fancy a man who is missing fingers scraping my face with a blade."

For all he knew, the young man was quite capable of shaving him, but he wasn't about to admit that to Miss Swan and miss the opportunity of having her do it for him.

She nodded. "Very well. Why don't you lie back and rest while I get everything organised?"

The thought was tempting, but he shook his head, his body reminding him why he had been trying to rise in the first place.

"How long before Dawkins will be here?"

"Not too long. I could send Jacob to fetch him if there's a problem, unless it can't wait?" She gestured towards the blasted bottle sitting prominently on his bedside cupboard.

"It's not _that,_ " he muttered, heat rushing to his cheeks. Corresponding colour rose in her own, but he was too embarrassed to appreciate it.

"Oh, I see," she murmured. "Not to worry. It is a good sign and shows you're on the road to recovery."

Her words gave him hope she hadn't assisted him with this matter while he was incapacitated. Some things simply could not be borne.

"I had Jacob help me place a chamber pot behind the screen for your use. It has been fitted into a chair, so should be manageable."

She gestured to a new addition to the room, a feminine-looking three-panelled affair embellished with Oriental artwork. It must have come from the rarely used mistress' suite, as none of the Masen wives had lived long enough to leave much of a stamp on the rest of the manor. It was thoughtful of Isabella, but he wasn't sure he could make even that small distance unaided.

Avoiding her gaze, he heaved a heavy sigh then asked, "Do you think you could assist me to cross the room?"

"Certainly."

With her arm hugging his waist and his good arm resting across her shoulders, he rose unsteadily to his feet.

"Maybe we should wait for Dawkins?" she suggested when he slumped against her. She wasn't a small woman, but he towered over her and was surely close to double her weight.

"Can't," he muttered, taking a wobbly step. Weak as a damned kitten, he almost fell to the ground. His injured leg ached, though he had to admit it wasn't as bad as he had expected it to be after so long without use. It was his arm that caused him agony.

"Need a sling," he said between panted breaths, holding his hand to his chest to ease the radiating pain.

"Oh, I should have thought of that. I'm so sorry. Can you stand for a moment?" With her hands at his waist, Isabella steadied him while he tried desperately not to think about the fact her soft fingers were on his bare flesh. For a maiden, she appeared surprisingly unshockable, but he had no desire to test her limits. If his body chose this moment to betray him with a visible response, he doubted either of them would recover from the embarrassment.

Edward snorted. There really wasn't anything to worry about. In his weakened state, he was barely able to stand let alone rise to the occasion.

Isabella released him for just long enough to retrieve a cloth from the sideboard, fashion it into a large triangle, and tie it around his neck.

He sighed with relief when the impromptu sling took the weight of his arm and then grudgingly accepted her assistance. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy her touch—he was a man, after all—but the circumstances were far from ideal.

Step by torturous step, they made their way to the corner of the vast room. With a shake of his head, Edward rued the ludicrousness of the master of the house requiring such a large suite. It wasn't as if any of his predecessors shared it with anyone, as tradition dictated a husband visit his wife in her suite—as seldom and as briefly as possible—before retreating to his own domain.

To his relief, the seat was furnished with sturdy rails. He quickly assured Miss Swan he could manage alone. Thinking of her as _Isabella_ at this moment was out of the question.

"Let me know when you are safely seated," she said from the other side of the screen, earning a muttered malediction. "I heard that," she added.

"My apologies, Miss Swan." He rolled his eyes, feeling like an errant schoolboy.

"I'll just go hurry Dawkins along. Promise you will wait for our return before trying to stand?"

Edward's response was a growl, though he had every intention of complying. Waltzing across the room unaided after the spectacle he had just made of himself was hardly an option.

Meeting one's new valet while seated upon a glorified chamber pot, half-dressed and fully wild in appearance, was not ideal for garnering respect. But a short while later, the young man of military bearing who asked for permission to step behind the screen maintained a neutral expression.

"Seth Dawkins, my lord," he said with a nod. "Line Infantry, Twenty-seventh Regiment."

"Well met, Dawkins. Now help me off this blasted thing," Edward said, avoiding eye contact.

Of average height and build, which made him a good few inches shorter than Edward, his new valet was, thankfully, not lacking in strength and well able to support him on his return to the bed. At the last moment, Isabella entered the room and redirected him to sit on the chair beside it.

"If you're feeling up to it, I thought it might be easier for me to shave you while you're seated rather than lying down. Otherwise, I'll have to clamber all over the bed, which wouldn't do at all."

Edward stifled a splutter, deciding silence was the only acceptable response.

"Dawkins, once you've dealt with, er, that," Edward gestured towards the corner of the room housing the commode. "Could you find me something to wear as a nightshirt?"

"Certainly," Dawkins gave a sharp nod, and Edward sighed with relief. At least he didn't have to worry about Miss Swan tending to the matter.

While Dawkins did his bidding, Isabella covered him in a blanket and made preparations for his shave. He would need to send to London for his wardrobe, such as it was. He supposed he should arrange for a visit from a tailor. Never having been much of a dandy, his officer's uniform had sufficed for most occasions.

"See if you can find His Lordship some clean underclothes, as well," Isabella added as Seth left the room.

Edward groaned. Was there no end to his shame? His battered pride urged him to thank her for her assistance and then politely dismiss her. But a masochistic streak he had been unaware he possessed compelled him to prolong his suffering, determined to enjoy her presence no matter how unwise.

"Ready, my lord?" she asked.

He nodded, and she wrapped a towel around his neck and then lathered his face with soap. Whether she was oblivious to it or intentionally ignoring his discomfort, her pragmatic manner helped put him at least marginally at ease.

"Mrs Cope is in seventh heaven now she has some help in the kitchen." Isabella broke the silence, her lips pursing in concentration as she made the first pass of the blade.

Edward watched her intently as she went on to give details regarding the number of staff that had been hired.

"There's a chicken casserole for your dinner with rice custard for dessert."

His frown deepened. "No luncheon?" How did she expect him to recover if he was forced to skip meals?

"You slept straight through. It's quite late in the afternoon."

He glanced towards the windows, and the fading light proved her words to be true.

"Wake me in future," he said, his tone the same as he would use when issuing an order.

"Rest is probably more important at this stage in your healing, but I'll see what Alice has to say when she comes by in the morning."

Not used to being contradicted, he opened his mouth to argue, but she snapped it shut with a finger to his chin before lathering soap over his lips. Effectively silenced, and not for the first time, he directed his most menacing glower her way. To his combined ire and chagrin, she took absolutely no notice.

Huffing out a breath through his nose, he attempted to relax while she scraped off the longest beard he had ever grown in his life. He would not miss it, but he couldn't help wondering what she would think of the scarred visage her endeavours would reveal.

"Do you want to keep the moustache?" she asked after working steadily on his neck, jaw, and cheeks.

He shook his head. He had worn one as an officer to make himself look older—and fiercer—but that seemed counterproductive to his current situation. Heaven knew, finding acceptance in his present locale was unlikely, but he imagined the more civilised his appearance the better. Not that a shave and a haircut could accomplish miracles.

Initially maintaining a careful distance, Isabella seemed to forget herself as she worked. Humming tunefully, her body came to rest against his legs, her breasts occasionally brushing against his shoulder and chest. While he was certain she was unaware of her actions, he was not. Between her gentle touch, comforting scent, and the sight of her womanly figure right before his eyes, his body's reaction was inevitable. At least the blanket was conveniently placed.

Playing with fire and sure to be burned, Edward was past denying the attraction he felt for his unlikely nurse. He might not have experienced infatuation before, but he knew enough to recognise the signs and found himself hard-pressed to fight it. In truth, he had felt something similar once before, the memory inspiring a quirk of his lips that almost earned him a nick.

"Keep still," Isabella scolded, waiting for him to compose his features before continuing.

The only time he had ever allowed himself to develop feelings for a girl was when he was a boy. Then, as now, the object of his interest had been Miss Isabella Swan. He had idolised her, he recalled, permitting the memories to resurface for the first time in almost fifteen years. Her friendship had meant a great deal to him, her dark hair with its reddish streaks, her warm smile, and her confident manner having engendered his admiration all those years ago, just as they did now.

There had been no place for such tender emotions when he was sent away to boarding school. Refused permission to return home but once a year by a father who couldn't stand the sight of him, Edward had told himself it was a blessing, saving him from any number of lashings, verbal and physical. But his way of coping with the isolation had been to block out all memories of home, specifically the pleasant ones, whenever they had arisen. To make matters worse, his tutors and peers had made constant reminder of his heritage, as if he would ever forget. By the time he returned home for his father's funeral, Edward had vowed not to follow in his forebear's footsteps. When Isabella had approached him at the graveside, compassion writ clearly on her, then girlish, features, he had pretended not to recognise her.

There would be no forgetting her this time, and he wondered how he would bear the pain of her inevitable departure.

 **~P &P~**

"Almost done." Isabella attempted a reassuring tone in response to the viscount's perpetual scowl. Having spent the previous ten days nursing her patient single-handedly, she was surprised at how unsettling it was to give him a simple shave. Scraping the blade across his lathered cheeks and the chiseled line of his jaw should not have felt as intimate as some of the tasks she had already performed. But somehow, it felt more so. The way he studied her every move—which was hardly surprising considering she was holding a sharp blade to his throat—increased her self-consciousness. Whenever their bodies came into contact, something she could not avoid entirely, an odd sensation skittered over her skin. To calm her nerves, she hummed a tune, relieved when he didn't complain. Nevertheless, by the time she was finished, she felt quite unlike herself.

Having been absorbed by her task, she had not focused on the picture that was emerging. After wiping the remaining suds from his face and neck with a damp towel, Isabella stood back to view the viscount's face laid bare. He was watching her closely, and when she drew in a quick breath, he raised his good hand to cover the scar that ran jaggedly down the right side of his face from brow to jaw line.

"I should have kept the beard."

"Oh, no." She reached towards him, staying her hand when he flinched. Distressed at having offended him, she hurried to explain. "I'm not bothered by your scar, my lord. It was visible even with your beard."

"Then why the look of horror?"

"It wasn't horror but surprise. I didn't expect to recognise the boy I knew in the man you have become. You have changed a great deal since your father's funeral, obviously, but much is familiar."

Truth be told, she had been shocked by how handsome he was. Not classically, his features far too rugged and weather-worn to suit Brummell and the like, or so she imagined. Isabella's knowledge of _tonnish_ fashion was limited to gossip overheard at the occasional soirée. Her personal opinion was that his strong jaw and well-formed mouth perfectly complemented his dark eyes and aristocratic nose.

"I recognised you, also," he admitted gruffly, and her expression betrayed her confusion. "Playing the organ in the chapel."

"But you didn't even know my name."

"I was uncertain."

"I see," she murmured, wondering how much he recalled of their childhood friendship.

"So, not _too_ beastly, then?" He gestured towards his scar, the insecurity in his tone calling to her compassionate nature.

"Not at all. I think it's quite becoming."

He snorted. "Liar."

Isabella's eyes widened at the accusation, though she was pleased to see the hint of a smile twitching his lip. "Really, my lord. Are you accusing a vicar's daughter of manufacturing falsehoods?"

"Blatantly," he said, his smile widening.

"I'll have you know I never lie." She looked down her nose at him in mock indignation.

He raised one eyebrow.

"Well, only on the rarest of occasions, and only in the protection of another's feelings."

He eyed her pointedly, and she recognised the error of her wording.

"Not that I was lying to protect _your_ feelings, of course."

"Of course. You just happen to find facial scars appealing."

"On you," she said, and then blinked, flustered by her admission. "What I meant to say"—she took a deep breath— "is that a scar on a gentleman can look quite dashing, in particular when it was earned in an honourable fashion. It is quite unfair, as a lady in a similar predicament could only ever be an object of pity."

"And I am not to be pitied?"

His expression was droll, but Isabella sensed genuine curiosity behind his question.

"Hardly." She fetched a brush and tackled his tangled locks in preparation for his haircut. "You have survived horrific injuries against terrible odds. If anything, I would say you are fortunate. God has granted you a second chance."

"At what?"

The answer seemed obvious, and she blurted it without forethough, "At a future and a family of your own."

As soon as the words had departed her lips, Isabella froze.

Edward averted his gaze, the colour draining from his cheeks.

"I think not," he muttered.

"I am so sorry. I didn't mean—"

"It is of no consequence." He waved a hand in an expression of indifference, but his stony expression couldn't mask his pain.

Isabella's heart sank. The last thing she had meant to do was hurt him.

"The haircut can wait. Help me back to the bed."

"Certainly, my lord," she murmured, suitably chastened. "I will tell Dawkins you would like a sponge bath."

"Not now. I would like my supper, and then I think that's enough for today."

Edward's tone was dismissive, but Isabella was just relieved he did not banish her entirely. Although perhaps he should. She may have taken on her mother's care during the long years of her illness, her sisters' upbringing both during that time and since, and helped her dedicated-but-somewhat-absent-minded father cope with both his grief and his duties. But that did not mean she was responsible for the viscount's ongoing care.

The problem Isabella faced when she excused herself to go and collect his supper was that she _wanted_ to be.

 **~P &P~**

 **Awww...poor Edward. Humiliations galore and then a reminder of his accursed state. He did seem to enjoy having her arm around his naked waste and then her closeness while she shaved his face, so that's something. ;)**

 **Did you guys enjoy this chapter as much as I did writing it back in 2013 and rereading/reworking it now? I hope so. :)**

 **xx Elise**


	10. Pity

**Happy Sunday lovely readers! It was a beautiful beach day in my little corner of the globe, but a cyclone is coming down the coast so we'll be seeing some much needed rain for the next day or two. Is it still freezing in the north?**

 **I am glad you enjoyed last chapter as much as me, though it did end on a sad note. This one has some similar ups and downs.  
**

 **Thank you so much for your kind words and smiley reviews. :)**

 **xx Elise**

 **Chapter 10**

 **Pity**

The atmosphere remained strained for the rest of the evening. When Isabella offered another apology, the viscount dismissed her concerns. "I am just tired," he said, but she thought it obvious her thoughtless words had affected him deeply.

"I appreciate your attentiveness, but there is no need for you to spend the night curled up in a chair," he said when evening came. "I assume you have been using one of the guest rooms for your clothing and such? You will get a much better sleep in a proper bed."

"But what if you should need assistance?"

Dawkins gestured to one of the doorways leading off the enormous bedroom. "There's a cot in the dressing room I can use. I'm a light sleeper, and I'll leave the door open, so I can 'ear His Lordship if 'e wakes."

"What an excellent idea." Isabella felt foolish, as she hadn't thought to check, not that she would have felt comfortable being even that far away from her previously fretful patient. Despite his improving condition, she was still wary of leaving him. "You will come and wake me if I'm needed?" she asked the young ex-soldier, who appeared quite capable despite his injuries.

"Of course, Miss Swan."

"Good night, Miss Swan." The viscount punctuated his words with a determined nod, and Isabella reluctantly took her leave.

After waking repeatedly throughout the night, each time with a start as she imagined she had heard him calling for her, Isabella felt decidedly anxious when she entered his bedroom early the next day.

"Good morning, my lord," she said, finding him sitting propped up in the bed. Having taken extra care with her appearance, she patted her hair to make sure no wisps had escaped her braided coronet. She paused halfway between the door and the end of his bed and curtsied.

He dismissed the action with a wave. "None of that. You're not a servant."

"Maybe not, but my rank is considerably lower than yours. It is expected for the daughter of a vicar to curtsy to a viscount."

"Well, at least wait until I can stand so I can show my respects in return with a bow. I feel rude enough as it is, laying abed with a lady present."

"We're not house guests at a garden party, my lord. I _have_ been acting as your nurse."

"A situation I am unlikely to forget."

He did not sound pleased by the admission, and Isabella feared he was yet to forgive her insensitivity or for robbing him of his dignity. Taking a breath, she came to stand at his side. The nightshirt Dawkins had found for him was rumpled. Combined with his sleep-tousled hair and newly shaved face, it gave him an almost boyish appearance.

"May I?" She gestured to his brow. He nodded, closing his eyes when she pressed her fingers to his forehead. She kept her hand in place for a moment, relieved to find his skin cool and dry.

"Are you hungry?" she asked, and his eyes flew open.

"Pardon?"

"Are you hungry, my lord?" she repeated, puzzled by his hoarse tone. With a horrid start, realisation dawned. "You are in pain."

He had gone without his medicine during the night, because she had not been there. She stepped to the sideboard and prepared a glass of Alice's herbal elixir, making sure to add a hefty dose of willow bark.

"Why didn't you have Dawkins wake me?" she asked, looking over her shoulder. "There was no need to suffer. I would have come at any time of the clock."

After returning to his side, she sat beside him on the bed. But when she brought the glass to his lips, he surprised her by grabbing hold of her forearm.

"I am not in pain," he said. "Well, not overly."

"Oh." Isabella frowned. "I thought . . . It's just that you seemed . . ."

Her gaze lowered to where his fingers were wrapped around her wrist. While she watched, he brushed his thumb over the sensitive skin on the inside of her arm. Her stomach fluttered in a curious fashion, and she wondered at its origin. Surely not? It couldn't be desire, could it?

The viscount squeezed her wrist, and her attention returned to his darker-than-usual gaze.

"Do I still have to take this?" He tilted his head towards the tumbler held between them.

"You don't _have_ to," she said, her voice oddly breathy.

"But you think I should?"

At her nod, he wrapped his fingers around hers on the glass and downed the contents in one swallow. A shudder ran through him at the taste. An answering one caused her body to tremble. It was sympathy . . . nothing more.

"Would you like me to see about your breakfast?" she asked when he lowered the glass. Her tone was still off, and she felt irritated by her discomfiture. She had sat beside in an identical manner countless times: spoon-fed him, held his hand, wiped his brow. She had also assisted him in the most intimate of ways, but she had never been so acutely aware of his masculinity before. It was unsettling.

"My lord?" she prompted.

Their gazes remained locked, his fingers still clasped around hers on the glass.

" _Edward?_ " she whispered, taking leave to use his name when he did not respond.

After blinking twice, he released her hand.

"Breakfast. Yes. That would be good."

She stood abruptly, then excused herself and left the room. Isabella's hopes that she and the viscount might renew their childhood friendship were in a state of flux. The atmosphere between them seemed quite . . . fraught.

When she returned, he made good work of his breakfast, his strength and alertness greatly improved from the day before. She was unsurprised when he insisted on feeding himself with his good hand, only allowing her to help him when his fork started to tremble.

"About your hair cut, my lord . . ." she said after putting the breakfast tray aside.

He raised a hand to silence her. "I think it would be wiser if you arranged for the barber from Thornton to visit."

"Wiser?" She stared for a moment, then continued when he added nothing more, "Very well. If that is your preference. Shall I tell Dawkins you are ready for your bath, or would you prefer to rest?"

"Bath first, then I would appreciate if you could bring me up to date with the goings on in the district and whatever you might know about the estate. Has there been any word from Crowley?"

"He's not visited the manor or asked for an audience that I know of. I could send word that you wish to see him."

"Don't bother. He will be long gone."

Isabella was loath to defend the miserly estate manager but felt compelled to say, "He was away when you arrived, but he did send for Dr Gerandy on his return."

"Probably in hopes the old drunkard would finish me off."

Isabella bit her lower lip, unsure how to respond.

The viscount raised a brow. "You think the man, who I suspect has been lying to and defrauding me for nigh on a decade, has my best interests at heart?"

She sighed. "I think it was fortunate he stayed away from Forkton for as long as he did. If Dr Gerandy had been sent for sooner, Alice and I would have been hard-pressed to keep him from taking control of your treatment."

The viscount, _Edward—_ she could at least call him by his name in her thoughts—grimaced.

"I can't recall if I've thanked you for all you've done, Miss Swan," he said formally, before a smile curved his lip. "You and your witchy friend with her disgusting potions. You must introduce us properly next time she calls."

"Gladly." Isabella smiled at his description, knowing it would tickle Alice.

"My gratitude is sincere." Edward reached for her hand but withdrew before grasping it. "If I _had_ been left to Dr Gerandy's tender mercies, I doubt I would have lasted long. I owe you my life."

"You are most welcome." Isabella straightened her shoulders with remembered resolve. "It may have been a long time ago, but I hadn't forgotten our friendship, and I wasn't about to give up on you without a fight."

"An admirable champion," he murmured then looked away.

Although effectively dismissed, Isabella felt hopeful they were back on a more secure footing. Pausing in the doorway, she acknowledged his earlier instructions. "I will let Dawkins know you are ready for him."

"Thank you, Miss Swan."

She smiled at his simple statement. It would certainly make it easier to integrate him into the local community if he continued to remember his manners.

 **~P &P~**

Despite his best intentions, Edward required a rest after he had been bathed and changed.

"Like a blasted baby in all regards," he muttered, or so Dawkins had relayed to Isabella's amusement. Putting the unexpected reprieve to good use, she sent a message to the barber in Thornton then wrote a letter requesting Corporal Jenks' presence, intending to add on any codicil Edward might want to include when he gave her the address. After finding Rosalie in a palatial parlour interviewing potential staff, she quizzed her sister about how things were faring at the vicarage.

"Stop worrying," Rosalie said with an exasperated huff in response to Isabella's many questions. "The house hasn't fallen down around us yet."

"I never said it had. It's just . . ."

"You're worried about Tanya," Rosalie finished for her.

"Has she been giving you trouble?"

"Not overly." Rosalie sighed. "Mr Hunter has gone quiet since the viscount's return and Mr Crowley's disappearance, so we have had no problems on that front. But if Tanya hasn't got her head in a book, she's going on about her impossible dreams. Travel to far-off and exotic destinations. Adventure and daring exploits only available to gentlemen of extraordinary stamina and considerable fortune. I mean, really, who ever heard of a young lady climbing a mountain or hunting wild animals in Africa? Then there's the ridiculous notion her knight in shining armour will come riding in to Forkton at any moment and rescue her from this life of drudgery to which she has been doomed by cruel fate."

Isabella chuckled at her sister's recital, which all too accurately mimicked their beloved but at times melodramatic sibling.

"The usual, then?"

Rosalie nodded, and it was Isabella's turn to sigh. "It seemed the right thing to encourage her love of reading, but I hardly expected her preference for adventure stories to have such a lasting impact. I do hope she hasn't done anything _too_ outrageous."

"Nothing beyond the pale," Rosalie said. "Though she may have been spotted riding _astride_ the pony she talked the Black boys into loaning her, but not by anyone of consequence _._ "

Isabella's shoulders slumped. She had tried so hard to stand in for their mother and raise her sisters to be respectable young ladies. But if their father's debts and their lack of dowries were not obstacle enough to prevent them finding suitable husbands, Tanya's outlandish behaviour seemed destined to do the trick. There was only so much abuse a young lady's reputation could sustain before it was irreparably damaged, regardless of her angelic appearance.

"Does Papa know?" she asked.

Rosalie shrugged indelicately, one of her personal peccadilloes. Isabella's middle sister was, in her own way, just as much a nonconformist as the youngest, though at least her passions were a tad less self-serving. A staunch advocate of Lord Wilberforce's efforts to see slavery abolished, Rosalie's concerns tended more towards the plight of the widow and orphan than a thirst for adventure.

"Don't fret." Rosalie stood and wrapped her arm around Isabella's waist. "I'll talk to Tanya and try to keep a closer watch, though please tell me you are returning home before too long? I'm beginning to worry the viscount has plans to keep you locked away in a tower once he recovers and never allow you to leave."

"Rosalie! You say the most outrageous things. Why on earth would His Lordship want to do that?"

"For companionship? Because he likes the look of you? To make you pay for bullying him into an unexpected recovery when he was reconciled to die? How should _I_ know? You're the one who has been holed up with him— _alone—_ for days on end."

"I have not bullied the man." Isabella focused on a common sisterly complaint, ignoring Rosalie's more outlandish suggestions. "Well, no more than was required."

To change the subject, she inquired how the staffing of the estate was fairing and received a thorough, if colourful, report.

 **~P &P~**

"Locked in a tower and never allowed to leave," Isabella muttered to herself as she climbed the stairs to the master suite.

"Pardon, miss? Did you say something?" a newly appointed young maid asked with a wobbly curtsy. Her hands were piled high with linens for making up another of the guest rooms in case her new master desired to entertain visitors, a possibility Isabella thought premature.

"Just thinking aloud, Bess," she said. "It is _Bess,_ isn't it?"

The girl nodded, her cheeks firing with colour.

"You may carry on."

The girl hesitated, and Isabella tilted her head in query.

"I just wanted to thank ye, Miss Swan. Me gettin' work 'ere will make all the difference back 'ome."

"You are most welcome." Isabella was aware of her family's plight. Bess's father had been seriously injured in a carting accident, and the eldest son would not be returning from the battlefields of France. With the mother busy caring for her husband while earning a paltry income from taking in mending, it left the second son, not yet fourteen and the family's sole breadwinner, working long hours in the mines. The money Bess earned at the manor would, indeed, make all the difference.

Bess still did not depart, and Isabella sensed she had more to say.

"Is something the matter?"

After a furtive glance towards the landing, the young maid leaned in close. "Excuse me for askin', miss, but the master . . . is he a _good_ man? Me auntie worked for 'is father, and she told some dreadful stories. She was real upset when she 'eard I got this job. Said it weren't safe."

"You have nothing to worry about," Isabella assured her. "This particular Lord Masen is a gentleman, through and through."

"But isn't 'e fearfully scarred and wild-lookin'? Lucy in the kitchen overheard Mrs Cope talkin' with Seth and—"

"Enough, Bess." Isabella's tone was gentle but firm. "The viscount was severely wounded in service to the King and quite understandably dishevelled when he arrived after a harrowing journey. _However,_ he is perfectly acceptable in both appearance and manner. There is no need to be afraid, and I am trusting you not to frighten the other girls by spreading gossip."

"Yes, miss." Bess curtsied and hurried away, leaving Isabella to hope the girl was both subdued by the scolding and comforted by the reassurances she had been given.

Finding Edward dressed in a clean, loose-sleeved nightshirt, and with his hair neatly brushed and tied back in a queue, Isabella did a noticeable double take. She couldn't help thinking the young maid had nothing to fear, other than the possibility of developing a _tendresse_ for her surprisingly handsome new master.

"Feeling better for a rest?" she asked, her smile fading at his answering scowl.

"I would feel better if this blasted arm would stop itching." Making a claw with his good hand, he looked as if he would like to tear the bandage away from his wounded arm.

"It sounds as if the stitches are pulling." Isabella moved to his side, slipped the loose nightshirt off his shoulder, and then began to unwrap the bandage.

He winced. "How am I supposed to use my arm again if I can barely stand the slightest jostling?"

"Give it time, my lord. You were at death's door mere days ago and must exercise patience. I suspect you have used up your quota of miracles for a while."

"You believe I am the recipient of a miracle?"

"How else would you explain your recovery? Alice's skills are impressive, but they only extend so far. There has been no lack of prayers sent up on your behalf."

Edward harrumphed, and Isabella fell quiet while wiping away the remaining unguent from his arm.

"These need to come out." She lifted her eyes to meet his gaze. "But Alice sent word this morning that she won't be able to visit for at least a day or two. There was another cottage fire, I'm afraid. The occupants are badly burned."

"I am sorry to hear that." Edward frowned before his expression turned pleading. "Can you not remove them?"

"I could, I suppose, but I've only observed the procedure."

"I trust you."

Isabella's eyes widened, and then a pleased smile teased her lips. "Very well, then. The wound is all but healed, and you will feel much better when the stitches aren't tugging. My sewing scissors should do the trick." She gestured to where they lay beside the embroidery hoop that was sitting on a side table. "I'll just take them down to the kitchen and give them a thorough clean."

"Is that really necessary?"

"Alice certainly thinks so, and _I_ trust _her_."

Isabella returned as quickly as she could and set to work. Edward grimaced but remained silent. It was pleasing to know he could refrain from uttering profanities if required, not that she would have thought too badly of him if he had slipped. Removing the catgut stitches wasn't easy, tugging each one free requiring some force. The poor man was shaking by the time she had finished.

"Better?"

He shrugged his good shoulder while inspecting the violent-looking wound that wrapped around his upper left arm.

"I should have let them take it off. I'm unlikely to regain full use, and the damned . . . _darned_ "—he shot her an apologetic look—"thing is ugly as sin."

"It's not that bad." Isabella tried to sound encouraging, but it did look rather frightful. "The colour will fade, and it's not like you will have it on display. When in public, it will be covered up with a shirt and jacket, and in private, a nightshirt."

"At least I have no wife to faint in horror at the sight."

"Precisely." While touched by his plight, she refused to indulge his inclination towards self-pity, personally aware of how damaging it could be. "Although I think you are underestimating the fortitude of the fairer sex, my lord. We do have to endure the rigours of childbirth, well, those blessed to have the opportunity. I can't see that exposure to a scar would cause any great distress in comparison."

"Well said, Miss Swan, well said."

The compassion evident in his gaze triggered unexpected tears to prick the backs of her eyelids.

"We make quite the pair, don't we?" he added in a gentle voice.

Discomposed, Isabella managed a shaky nod. She hadn't been asking for _his_ pity and, under the guise of needing to dispose of his soiled bandage, she made a hasty escape.

 **~P &P~**

 **My goodness, I'd forgotten how much of a 'slow burn' this story was! Personally, I don't mind that if it doesn't go on for too long, but I know it can frustrate some readers. They are making progress, in a two steps forward one step back sort of way. Next chapter we get all sorts of answers, and then the pace picks up considerably after that.**

 **Any thoughts on this chapter? Removing those stitches was wince inducing, but I imagine it was a relief not having to read about her helping him go to the toilet for a change. One of my lovely reviewers, bon123, mentioned that this was the only time she could recall a fanfic story dealing in such detail with a character needing to do a number 2!**

 **Anyone else wouldn't mind being locked in a tower with a brooding Edward?**

 **Until tomorrow!**

 **xx Elise**


	11. Honourable

**You guys are so lovely. Normally when my hubby asks what I'm chuckling over (or blushing about!) it is the latest, amazing fanfic story I'm reading, but today it has been your wonderful, funny, heartwarming and sometimes saucy reviews. It seems quite a few of us were willing to be locked in a tower with Edward.** **Cecilia-Siledubh-Mohney even volunteered as tribute! (I guffawed at that) Despite how good they were,** **I've not been able to reply to a single review, I'm afraid (and I really, really wanted to!) I'm babysitting my gorgeous seven-year-old granddaughter, and sock puppets don't make themselves. :) Please know that I read and thoroughly enjoyed every single one.**

 **Welcome to my new readers, and thank you so much to those of you who have taken the extra time to review each chapter as you've read along. I _try_ to do that myself, but sometimes I just can't resist clicking NEXT. I have vowed to at least leave a smiley face in future, since I enjoy getting them so much myself).**

 **xx Elise**

 **~P &P~**

 **Chapter 11**

 **Honourable**

Edward waited impatiently for Isabella's return. She was the first and only woman he had ever cared for, and he couldn't help but savour every bittersweet moment of their diminishing time together. Fool that he was. His future was bleak enough without adding lovelorn to his lot. Summoning what sense he had remaining, he committed to at least _attempting_ to safeguard his heart from harm. He imagined the best protection was to find a purpose with which to fill his days.

Foremost on his agenda, alongside making as full a recovery as his sorely abused body would allow, was seeing to the restoration of his inheritance. As long as he didn't take advantage of Isabella in the process, he told himself there was no danger in enlisting her help to fulfil his mission. She was clearly a sensible woman—well respected in the community, or so Dawkins assured him—and sure to know where the greatest needs lay.

Edward snorted. The honourable thing would be to send her away, yet here he was searching for excuses to keep her with him. Testament to his folly, his eyes lit up when she entered the room.

"Oh," she said while staring at the dinner tray on the bed beside him. "You've already eaten."

"Yes, I didn't want to bother you."

Her expression led him to believe she was not pleased, his lack of experience with the fairer sex leaving him uncertain as to why.

"I managed to feed myself unaided," he added before grimacing. He sounded like a child boasting to his nursemaid. Her lips curved in a smirk, and Edward bit back the profanity he was tempted to utter. At least he had made her smile. It suited her, as did the way she had arranged her long, brown tresses with loose curls framing her face. She was wearing his favourite gown, the darker blue one with the enticingly low bodice. For modesty's sake, she had added a lace-trimmed fichu, but it was possible to catch a glimpse of cleavage . . . if one looked closely.

To distract himself, Edward quizzed her about the needs of the locals and which issues she considered a priority. A picture soon emerged of a district stricken with poverty and unemployment. Most of the farmland lay fallow, and those who had work were employed in the mines. There was no great censure in Isabella's tone, but he sensed perplexity at his ignorance.

"What did you mean by _another_ cottage fire?" he asked recalling her earlier comment. "I take it there have been previous fires?"

"Many, I'm afraid."

Her words settled like a stone in his gut.

"The homes are terribly dilapidated. The roofs leak, the chimneys are blocked and crumbling. That's where the danger lies."

Edward shook his head, dislodging the band Dawkins had used to tie his hair in place and causing it to fall loose around his shoulders.

"I directed every penny earned in rent to be used for maintenance and improvements, not to mention paying extra for major refurbishments as needed. This should be the most well-kept district in England."

"It appears Mr Crowley has a great deal to answer for."

Edward sighed. "As do I."

"Why _did_ you not come to check in person or send a representative to ensure your will was being carried out?"

Isabella's question was perfectly reasonable, but he struggled to keep the defensiveness from his tone.

"Because I vowed never to return. It was easier to sign off on whatever requests Crowley sent me without studying them too closely. I _thought_ I was being honourable, taking care of the people who had treated me badly when I was a boy rather than repaying them in kind." Isabella winced, and he quickly added, "Not that everyone was unfavourable toward me. I made sure the manor staff were well taken care of, along with your family, of course. Or so I believed."

Isabella turned to face the window, and he suspected she was struggling not to cry. He could only guess at the hardships her family had been forced to endure beholden to the likes of Crowley. Edward's instincts had warned him not to trust the man, but he had ignored them. If it hadn't been for his supposedly imminent death, he would never have returned, never have learned of the suffering being inflicted on people he cared about in _his_ name.

Judging it wise to give Isabella a moment to compose herself, he reached for the bell pull beside the bed, pleased when it was answered promptly by a liveried manservant.

"Tea, please, for two, and a light meal," he said, unsure whether Isabella had taken her luncheon.

"Yes, my lord." The footman bowed and turned to leave.

"Wait," Edward called, yet to meet any of his new staff other than Dawkins. "Your name?"

"Colin Brown, sir. My father used to work as a gardener for your father and grandfather."

"Welcome to Masen Manor, Mr Brown." Edward remembered the gardeners, just not their individual names. "Is your father well?"

"He died some years back, my lord. In a mine explosion." The footman's expression didn't change, but he averted his gaze to stare over Edward's shoulder.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Edward said. "You may go." When the door closed, he turned his head to find Isabella watching him. "One of the _Masen_ mines?"

She nodded, and he let out a slow breath.

"How many are there?"

"Seven that I know of. They're the biggest employers in the district, but they don't pay well and are far from safe. You didn't know?"

He shook his head. "Crowley must have forged my name to obtain the permits. Please tell me they don't employ children."

Her pained expression gave him his answer, and he slumped back against the pillow. The temptation was strong to ask for one of her powerful sleeping draughts, so he could disappear into oblivion. He resisted, as it was past time he faced up to his responsibilities.

Isabella returned to sit in the chair beside the bed.

"I know it's not my place to pry," she said. "But I'm curious as to how you've managed all these years without taking any income from the estate. Obviously, you don't have to answer—"

"It's all right. I don't mind telling you," he said, deciding to at least attempt a defence of his honour. "What do you know about my family's history?"

"Only what is generally known."

Although she didn't name it, he assumed Isabella was referring to the Masen Curse.

"The first Viscount Masen, my three times great-grandfather, had the title and estate bestowed upon him for services to the Crown. At a hefty price, of course." He grimaced. "Jeremiah Masen was a very successful businessman."

"He was in trade?"

"On a grand scale."

While Isabella's reaction was one of surprise rather than disdain, Edward found the _ton's_ obsession with bloodlines and the revulsion with which they viewed those forced to _work_ for a living quite comical. Many of the nobilities' forebears had similar histories to his own, those who hadn't taken their place of elevation and rule by force.

"What did he do?" she asked.

"He traded in human suffering and misery."

At her puzzled look, Edward clarified by saying, "He was a slaver. He captured men, women, and children by brutal means, took them from their homes and transported them by ship to sell in America . . . those who survived the journey. The ones he kept, he used to build an empire, making an astonishing fortune in the process. The Masen title lent him the credibility he craved but didn't change the fact he was a brutal murderer who profited from the suffering of others. His sons and grandsons followed in his blighted footsteps."

Isabella sat back. "I had heard rumours the Masen Curse originated in Africa, but I thought that was just superstition, conjecture."

"Based in truth." Edward released a gusty sigh. "The first viscount handed down the story of the curse's origins to his son and so forth in the hopes one of us would find a way to defeat it. Well, I assume as much. It is not inconceivable that the story was passed from father to son as a form of familial torture."

"You believe an African witch doctor put a curse on your family?"

"My father certainly did."

"I suppose that's why he consulted with practitioners of the occult when he tried to have the dreadful thing broken."

Edward sliced the air with his good hand. "The curse _can't_ be broken, but it is no longer of any consequence."

Isabella frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I intend to be the last of my line. My father, his father, all the way back to the first Viscount Masen, were cruel men with vicious tempers. Drunkards. Gamblers. Murderers. The Masens do not deserve to continue their legacy."

"But you are not like them. You're different."

"Am I?" While touched by her defence, Edward slowly shook his head. "The only place I ever felt at home was in the army, fighting a brutal war."

"Fighting honourably in a _just_ war," she said.

After everything he had seen and done on the battlefield, Edward doubted the virtue of his actions or that there was any such thing as a "just" war.

Isabella reached to clasp his hand. He should have shaken her off but shamelessly took comfort in her touch. After a long moment, during which she seemed lost in thought, she spoke in a contemplative tone. "So, you live off the income generated by your slaves?"

Edward didn't blame her for the assumption, but he was quick to counter it, his tone harsher than he intended. "I abhor the practice and have refused to profit from it."

It shouldn't have mattered, but he didn't want her to think quite that badly of him.

Her eyes lit up. "You freed them?"

"I tried." He hated having to disappoint her. "When I reached my majority, I was determined to emancipate every last one. But there are thousands, and it wasn't as simple as I had hoped."

"Thousands," she whispered. "Why couldn't you free them? If you _own_ these poor people, surely it is within your power to release them?"

"Unfortunately, in many of the places where they reside, such an action would incite political unrest and the threat of reprisals. I'd have been putting their lives at risk. I freed as many as I could, repatriating those brave or desperate enough to return to their homes in Africa where they are at risk of recapture. Those who chose to remain working for me, I rehired at a fair wage in their previous or more suitable positions. Whether slave or free, I insisted on improved living and working conditions for all the workers and the reuniting of families wherever possible."

Isabella nodded thoughtfully. "You have done what you could and at considerable cost, I imagine."

"Everyone said I was a madman, that my fortune would be gone in no time." He shrugged. Since he had never intended leaving the army, it had been of little concern. "Some of the enterprises struggled to remain competitive, especially in the beginning. But it is surprising what can be accomplished when one is not milking every ounce of profit from a plantation, factory, or mine. In spite of numerous predictions to the contrary, the businesses have flourished. Most of the income generated goes back into wages and improving conditions with a portion set aside to help fund Wilberforce's campaign to see slavery abolished for good, but there always seems to be a considerable sum in reserve."

Edward hadn't touched a penny of the excess, funds that continued to multiply regardless of his disinterest. Clearly, that was about to change, as restoring the Masen estates and making up for his neglect was going to cost.

Isabella looked at him with an expression filled with respect and tinged with awe. "Your decision to right the wrongs of your forebears has brought God's blessing on your endeavours."

"What? No!" Edward sat forward. " _My_ bloodline is responsible for generations of suffering. I can never atone for what's been done."

"But isn't that what you're doing? Making a difference in the lives of the people you are responsible for and helping to support the cause that could transform the lives of countless others? If that's not making restitution for the wrongdoing of your forebears, I don't know what is."

"But it has not cost me anything." He thumped his chest with his good hand. "I merely set the wheels in motion and then went off to do what I wanted, enlisting as an officer."

Her expression turned doubtful. "Please tell me you have checked to make sure your orders were followed?"

"Yes . . . often," he said before muttering bitterly. "Pity I wasn't as diligent about overseeing matters at home."

She squeezed his hand. "You are here now, and it's not too late to make amends. I'm assuming that's your purpose in wanting to know the state of affairs in the district, to try and repair the damage that has been done?"

Looking from her hopeful expression to their joined hands, Edward considered his response. He couldn't possibly make amends for the past, but he could make things better for the people living here now, for Isabella and her family, and hopefully set in place safeguards for the future.

"That is most definitely my intention," he said with feeling.

Her smile was a reward he didn't deserve but savoured nonetheless.

 **~P &P~**

 **So, we have some answers regarding the curse's origins - perceived or real. (More about that to come.)**

 **Sadly, I discovered that freeing slaves was a difficult and highly dangerous process. The beginning of the end of slavery was under way at this time in history (1818), but it took until 1833 for it to be abolished in the British Empire and not until 1865 in the US. For hundreds of years, huge fortunes were created at a cost of untold suffering. :(**

 **I would love to hear your thoughts on this chapter.**

 **xx Elise**

 **PS Next update not until Wednesday, as my granddaughter desperately wants my attention! "Enough with the computer, Nanna!"**


	12. Compromised

**Thank you so much for your continued support for this story. Posting daily is a lot of fun, but the break was nice. My granddaughter and I had a lovely time, though it did take me a while to get the crumbs out of my keyboard and wipe off the sticky juice and glitter before I could use my computer again!**

 **I think you'll enjoy this chapter. It has some sad moments but some sweet ones also.**

 **xx Elise**

 **~P &P~**

 **Chapter 12**

 **Compromised**

Caring for Edward reminded Isabella of the one and only time she was invited on a hunt. One minute, she was enjoying the thrill of galloping flat out across an open plain, a pack of baying hounds off in the distance and the thunder of hooves echoing in her ears. The next, she was flying over a log—side-saddle, no less—a style of riding she had only had opportunity to attempt a few times. Unsurprisingly, she ended up sprawled in a creek and requiring rescue. It was not one of her more pleasant memories, though it had certainly been exciting.

Time spent with Edward shared similar degrees of highs and lows with his moods swinging like a lantern in a storm. While she understood his insistence that Seth be the one to assist him with his more personal care, there was no excuse for reverting to his previous use of profanity. Unfortunately, his language turned all colours of the rainbow when she offered to demonstrate the correct way to massage the healing liniment into his thigh.

"I am sorry if you feel robbed of your dignity, my lord, but you are making altogether too much fuss. I performed this service twice a day for _ten_ days while you were unconscious." Her reminder earned a particularly piquant curse, and she huffed. "You have said yourself that your leg is more mobile than it was before your arrival, but the treatment must be done properly to garner the most benefit. Seth needs a demonstration."

"Miss Swan 'as the right of it, my lord," the footman said. "What with me 'aving a few fingers missing, I think a demonstration would be wise."

"Miss Swan can demonstrate on somebody else."

"Very well." Isabella turned to the only other available candidate. "Seth, drop your trousers."

"Dawkins, you will do no such thing!" Edward roared.

Isabella placed her hands on her hips.

"I have to demonstrate on _somebody,_ my lord."

"Not on my valet," he muttered, throwing the blanket off his right leg and dragging a pillow over his groin. "Damned impossible woman."

Isabella rolled her eyes. She had no intention of going near his private area. The man took modesty to ridiculous lengths.

Her pique at Edward's overreaction passed when she discovered massaging his thigh while he was awake was not the same as performing the task when he was insensate. Acutely aware of his warm, bare flesh beneath her fingers, she began to feel quite unlike her typically pragmatic self. To her embarrassment, her voice shook when she told Seth to take over. Excusing herself, Isabella fought the urge to run from the room.

Fortunately, Edward could also be congenial in his manner. Having shared his extraordinary tale, he was keen to have her input on matters relating to the manor and estate. The respect he showed her opinion was gratifying, and she enjoyed her new role as his interim personal secretary. When her patient was reluctantly forced to rest, she spent her time making lists and writing letters to bankers, lawyers, current and retired officer friends of Edward, and various tradespeople. He insisted she send requests for specific individuals to meet with him at their soonest convenience, a topic that put an end to their truce.

"It is too soon." She gave him a censuring look. "If you become overtired, you could suffer a setback."

"I need to speak with the authorities, and the sooner I employ a new estate manager, someone I can _trust_ , the sooner I can begin to set things right."

"An admirable endeavour, my lord, but the problems have existed for many years. They shan't be fixed overnight."

"All the more reason not to waste time," he insisted before his expression turned pleading. "I need your help, Miss Swan. Dawkins has trouble writing, and I doubt any of the new maids or footmen have the requisite penmanship."

"Oh, all right," she said with a shake of her head. "But at least allow Mr and Mrs Cope and me to handle the preliminary interviews."

He relented, and the Copes carried most of the burden when it came to enlightening the magistrate from Thornton as to events spanning the previous decade. The man had been suspicious for quite some time but powerless to do anything, as he had assumed the current Viscount Masen was party to proceedings.

"Might I suggest you maintain the status quo for the meantime, my lord?" the magistrate asked, regarding the mines that were running illegally, their titles and permits having been forged. "I'm pleased to hear you plan to address the lack of safety, but you would cause much suffering if you shut them down cold."

Edward grimaced then gave a reluctant nod. "I'll be needing workers to get the farms producing and to begin repairs on the neglected cottages and buildings. As soon as I have a new manager in place, I will have him inform the mineworkers that those who would rather be employed in farming or construction may make the change. It will take time to determine if the mines can be made safe, but I will keep them operating if possible."

The magistrate's expression turned thoughtful. "May I spread word of your intentions? There is a lot of uncertainty in the district between your unexpected return and Crowley's disappearance. This news will go a long way towards allaying the workers' fears."

"Do what you think is best."

"Thank you, my lord. Your return home is welcome, indeed."

The magistrate bowed and departed, leaving Isabella alone with Edward.

"Rest," she ordered, placing a hand to his brow. "You have gone quite grey."

"Yes, Miss Swan." He captured her hand before she could move away, and his eyes closed almost immediately. Affected by both the sight and feel of their entwined fingers, Isabella waited until she was sure he was asleep before she reluctantly withdrew.

 **~P &P~**

Three days passed before Alice sent word she would be coming to check on the viscount. News had already reached the manor that her patients, the mother and child burned in the fire, had not survived their terrible injuries. The infant had died the first night, and the mother earlier that morning. Isabella waited in the parlour and wordlessly drew her friend into her arms upon her arrival.

"You did everything you could," she murmured, suspecting Alice's tears were the first she had allowed herself. "Was it very bad?"

Alice straightened and removed a handkerchief from her reticule. "Yes, very," she said, releasing a ragged breath. "I have scrubbed myself raw, but I can still smell the smoke and the . . ."

Isabella knew what her friend had been about to say. If Isabella hadn't been busy caring for Edward, Alice might have asked for her assistance. It wouldn't have been the first time she had stood by, horrified and helpless, while her friend tried to ease a patients' suffering. The smell of burned flesh was not something one ever forgot.

Alice squared her shoulders. "How is the viscount?"

"He is much improved," Isabella said with a smile. "I removed the stitches a few days ago, and he is working tirelessly to restore the use of his arm. A little _too_ tirelessly. He is very determined and more difficult to manage than a gaggle of Rosalie's orphans."

Just as Isabella hoped, Alice laughed. "If he wasn't such a stubborn individual, I doubt he would have survived. Has he lost much movement or sensation?"

"Quite a bit, I'm afraid." Isabella's heart ached to think of it. "He can't bend his wrist back or fully straightening his elbow, and there's some tingling and numbness down the outside of his arm extending to the tip of his thumb and his first two fingers."

"I see." Alice released a breath then straightened her shoulders. "Considering the extent of his injury, it is a wonder he has any movement at all. How is he coping with the loss?"

"A bear with a sore tooth comes to mind."

"He may improve with exercise. We'll just have to prevent him from overdoing it while the wound continues to heal."

"Good luck with that," Isabella muttered.

"He's not wasting any time bringing the old place to life." Alice gestured to the bevy of servants, those passing by in the hallway and the ones visible in the gardens through the parlour windows, all in the process of restoring the manor to its former glory.

"He has given instructions only to open up the central wing of the house but, believe me, it is a large enough undertaking. I don't think it is a stretch to say the manor could house the entire village."

The two women exchanged glances. The cottage Alice shared with her elderly aunt was little more than two tiny rooms, and the vicarage was modest by any standards. Even the stately home Alice had been raised in, Brandon House, paled in comparison to the grandeur and scale of Masen Manor.

"Whatever will he do with himself, rattling around in this monstrosity?"

Isabella felt a twinge of sadness at the thought of Edward living all alone in the rambling mansion, a full retinue of servants notwithstanding.

"There is an impressive library," she said in response to Alice's mostly rhetorical question. "I am not sure if the viscount will want to open up the ballroom. It is very grand, but I don't imagine dancing will be on his agenda. Once the gardens are restored, the manor could hold the most spectacular house parties. What? What is it?" Isabella asked, catching sight of Alice's scowl.

"Pray tell, whom are you picturing in the role of the viscount's hostess?"

"Not _me_ , if that's what you're inferring. I am just saying the place has lots of potential."

"And the man? You are a compassionate soul, Isabella, but you mustn't delude yourself. The only potential in a relationship with the viscount is for disaster."

"Everybody needs a friend, Alice. You of all people should know that." As soon as the words left her mouth, Isabella regretted them, but her companion merely raised a brow.

"A friend?"

"Yes, a _friend._ You can hardly begrudge me. It is not as if a man such as the viscount would want anything more from a woman like me."

"Oh, don't start that again." Alice flicked her fingers. "He hardly deserves the pedestal you have placed him upon. Aside from the fact he is _cursed,_ the man isn't even remotely attractive."

Isabella held her tongue, deciding to allow Alice to draw her own conclusions regarding Edward's transformation. Shaving off his beard had rattled her composure, but the haircut he had received from the barber the afternoon before, revealing a fashionable degree of curl, had left her reeling. He was yet to request a second shave, but not even the stubble that now adorned his jaw detracted from his rugged good looks. As far as Isabella was concerned, his facial scar was barely an issue.

 **~P &P~**

"Lord Masen, may I introduce Miss Alice Brandon?"

Isabella curtsied, the first time she had done so without his interjection or complaint. Alice hesitate a moment before copying the action, first needing to snap her mouth shut.

Dressed in a white ruffled shirt, black breeches, and soft-leather slippers, all retrieved from storage and previously belonging to his father, Edward was seated in the chair beside the bed. Awake, alert, and at least somewhat more decently attired, the combination of his military and noble bearing was unmistakable.

"How do you do, Miss Brandon?" He bowed his head. "Please forgive me for not properly offering my respects. It has been a tiring morning, and I fear I would need Miss Swan's help to stand, which would rather defeat the purpose."

"That's perfectly all right, my lord," Alice said then shot Isabella a look. "It is a pleasure to formally meet you and good to see you looking so well."

"Thanks to your skill as a healer and Miss Swan's excellent nursing care."

Edward's smile could only be described as charming, and an uncomfortable feeling settled in the pit of Isabella's stomach.

"May I examine your arm?" Alice asked, a surprising hint of deference in her manner.

"Of course." Edward unbuttoned his shirt and slipped the sleeve off his shoulder.

"I think we need to remove your shirt altogether," Alice said after struggling to unwrap the bandage.

"I'll do it." Isabella stepped forward, ignoring Alice's startled expression. Seth would normally have been the one to help Edward with his attire, but Isabella had excused him to take his morning tea. Her fingers skimmed over Edward's heated skin, and she raised a hand to his brow.

"What is it?" he asked.

"You feel warm."

"It's nothing." He glanced aside, colour rising in his cheeks. "I have been sitting here exercising my arm . . . if one can call it exercise."

"That explains it, then."

His gaze returned to Isabella, and they shared a smile before she helped him remove his shirt.

"Might _I_ have permission to inspect my patient now?"

Alice eyed Isabella reprovingly, and she stepped back. Realising she had been behaving in a possessive manner, she crossed to the writing desk she had requested be set up by the window.

"I don't think you will get back the full use of your thumb and first two fingers," Alice said after examining Edward's arm. "The nerve has been damaged that runs to that part of your hand, I'm afraid."

"But there is some sensation and a little movement. The damned, I mean _darned_ "—he sighed heavily, shooting Isabella an apologetic look—"thing can certainly feel pain."

"Stranger things have happened," Alice agreed mildly, but her expression remained doubtful. "It is a miracle you survived such an injury. Who knows? I suppose the Lord could have another in store."

"More miracles?" Edward looked to Isabella.

"Keep working it," Alice said. "The more you build up the muscles in your arm and hand, the better. But don't overdo it."

Isabella harrumphed, and Edward's lip curled in a smirk.

"Anything else?" he asked, returning his attention to Alice when she remained silent.

"No, that's all." Her gaze flickered from Edward to Isabella and back again. "Rest, gentle exercise, and keep rubbing in the liniments I've prepared. How is the leg?"

The heat Isabella felt in her cheeks matched the colour that rose to Edward's, and she was relieved when he _didn't_ look her way this time.

"Much better," he said gruffly.

"Excellent." Alice nodded. "You can leave the bandage off the arm, as the wound will benefit from some fresh air. I suggest you remove the sleeves from a shirt or two to keep them from becoming stained by the ointment or any residual discharge."

"You will see to it?" he asked when Isabella crossed to his side to help him with his shirt. The ones Edward was wearing were well out of date, so sacrificing them would be no great loss.

"Of course." Isabella's smile faded when she saw the way her friend had drawn her lips into a grim line.

"Miss Swan will return shortly, my lord. I have something to give her, but I have left it downstairs."

Alice had only brought the one bag, the one she was holding. Suspecting Alice's words were a ruse, Isabella wasn't surprised when her friend turned on her the moment the bedroom door closed behind them.

"You _promised_ me," Alice hissed before grabbing Isabella by the arm and dragged her along the wide carpeted hallway until they reached a recently prepared guest bedroom.

"Promised you what?"

"That you wouldn't become infatuated with your patient." She released Isabella and began to pace. "I _warned_ you to beware. Nursing a man creates a false sense of intimacy, which can be dangerous enough, but this particular gentleman is not a safe prospect for matrimony _._ You _cannot_ fall in love with him."

"Love?" Isabella stared at her friend, aghast. "Have you lost your mind?"

"Have you?" Alice's green eyes flashed. "I saw the way you were looking at him. You were _jealous_ when I started to remove his shirt."

Isabella was shocked to silence, eventually responding in a whisper, "I'm not. I, I wasn't."

Feeling faint, she sat heavily on the bed. The thought of Edward believing that she, the daughter of a lowly vicar and a spinster at that, was pining over him was too dreadful to bear. Her purpose had been to help him, nothing more.

"Do you think he noticed?"

Alice crossed her arms. "He was too busy ogling you to notice much of anything."

A flicker of something warm ignited in Isabella's chest. "You think. Do you think he might have feelings for me?"

"Of course not." Alice's eyes widened with alarm. "The man's a lecher. He was even pouring on the charm with me."

Isabella didn't believe for one minute that Edward was guilty of lechery, but she couldn't deny he had been particularly gracious when greeting her friend. Alice was a beautiful woman and might have made an excellent match if she were not devoid of dowry and burdened by the stigma of illegitimacy. To Isabella's horror, a stab of jealousy twisted her gut once more.

"Oh my, you are right," she murmured. "My sentiments run deeper than mere friendship would allow. It is time for me to leave Masen Manor."

Alice nodded. "That is probably wise."

"He has Seth to help him, and his military valet will be arriving soon. The manor is almost fully staffed, and Edward—I mean, the _viscount_ —expects to have a new estate manager employed shortly."

"He will be well taken care of."

"Yes, of course."

Tears welled in Isabella's eyes, and she blinked them back. She was a mature woman, prone to neither weeping nor histrionics, but the thought of saying goodbye to Edward caused a pain in her heart she suspected would remain with her for a very long time.

 **~P &P~**

 **Oh no! She's thinking of leaving him! Who thinks he'll let her go without putting up a fight?**

 **The fox hunt story at the beginning is a true one...mine. It was many years ago when I was a reasonably accomplished horsewoman (well, I could stay on if the ground was flat). The hounds were running down a kangaroo (beggars can't be choosers, I guess) which I thought was horrible. When I spotted the poor roo, I took the risk of pointing in the opposite direction and shouting the requisite, 'Tally Ho!', sending the hunt on a wild goose chase, not that we had any of those either! My good deed didn't save me from an ignominious and painful fall shortly thereafter, or maybe it was punishment for my deception? Needless to say, it was my first and only hunt. ;)**

 **xx Elise,**

 **PS Anyone else suspect Edward had a reason other than excessive modesty for where he positioned the pillow while she massaged his upper thigh?**


	13. Offence

**Hello again my lovely readers! A lot of you are very cross with Alice. Her fears and motivations become clearer as the story progresses, but primarily, she is trying to protect her dearest friend. I'm not saying that I agree with her methods, of course.**

 **I'm not sure if this chapter warrants a tissue warning, but it is sad. Oh, and Edward deserves to be beaten around the head with an embroidered cushion. Just saying...**

 **~P &P~**

 **xx Elise**

 **Chapter 13**

 **Offence**

Edward cursed his stupidity. He had become too comfortable around Isabella and allowed his regard to show. One look at Miss Brandon's expression, an all-too-familiar combination of apprehension and disdain, and his error was apparent. Her talk of having something to give Isabella was clearly an excuse to speak with her friend in private. His fears heightened when Isabella returned a short while later, her face pale and her expression downcast. She wasted no time confirming his suspicion, her words hitting him with the sting of a slap.

"Now that you are on the mend, my lord, it is time for me to think about returning to my home."

He should agree, hasten her on her way as quickly as possible. She was clearly distressed at her friend's revelation that he, the cursed Viscount Masen, had developed feelings for her. But his actions contradicted his intentions.

"Would it be too much to prevail upon you to stay for a little longer, Miss Swan?"

"You wouldn't mind?" She lifted her head before giving it a quick shake. "I mean, is there some way in which I can continue to be of assistance?"

His conscience stung at his blatant manipulation of her generous nature, but it was worth it to gain a few extra days of her company.

"Applications have begun arriving for the senior staff positions." He gestured to the letters the footman, Brown, had delivered in her brief absence. "I would appreciate your advice determining which ones to grant an interview, and the interviews themselves will likely prove tiring. Then there's the process of choosing a new estate manager—a highly crucial decision, I'm sure you would agree?"

"Very well. I will stay and help with the interviews," she said.

He expelled the breath he had been holding.

"There is a sitting room attached to this bedroom." He pointed to one of the doors leading off the master suite. "You could use it as an office and private retreat. As you pointed out, I am well on the way to recovery. Dawkins is becoming quite adept at managing my care, so I shan't be a burden."

"You are not. You haven't been."

He refrained from calling her on the lie, having only mentioned it to prove his intentions were honourable, in their fashion. Her advice _was_ valuable to him, as her judgements benefited from her knowledge of the locals and their needs.

"Thank you, Miss Swan. I realise it is unforgivable of me to impel you after you have already given so much of your time to my recovery, but I greatly appreciate your sacrifice."

"It is no sacrifice, my lord."

The faint curve of her lips encouraged Edward that he might yet restore things between them, though to what end, he couldn't say.

 **~P &P~**

The following week passed too quickly for his liking. Several times, he repeated Isabella's own words regarding her spinsterhood safeguarding her from criticism. But his attempts at reassurance did not seem to be having the desired effect. Her increasingly subdued demeanour cast a pall over their remaining hours together.

"It is time I returned home," she informed him after he had stayed awake throughout the afternoon without napping for several days in a row. "I fear my continued presence will begin to raise questions."

His heart began to race. "Nonsense. You can't have forgotten your own words, that no one will see anything amiss in the vicar's spinster daughter aiding a sick and dying parishioner."

"How could I possibly forget with you reminding me so regularly?" she asked, her tone dry. "The thing is, _cohabiting_ with said parishioner after his recovery has the potential to stretch the bounds of propriety, even for one such as myself."

"But that's preposterous." He had been careful not to reveal his feelings towards her. She should have no cause for alarm. "You and I both know there is absolutely nothing going on between us."

Isabella blinked several times, as if she had gotten something stuck in her eye.

"Of course, there isn't, but communities like Forkton thrive on gossip. I would rather not give them cause, however implausible. Mr Houghton and Mrs Laws have both accepted their offers of employment and will begin work upon the morrow," she said, naming his new butler and head housekeeper. "That completes the household staff. You have settled on Mr Dodds for stable master?"

"Yes, but I am still to decide on my new estate manager, the most important position of all," he countered.

"I thought Mr Lumley a sensible fellow. Will he not do? It is not like you won't be here to oversee matters. Unless you are planning on leaving the district again now that you are on the mend?"

He stared blankly. Of course, he wasn't going to leave.

"There has been a late application." He walked across to the desk he'd had set up next to Isabella's in the sitting room she was using as her study. It had made sense for him to be situated close by, since they were working on the same projects, but Edward feared he had miscalculated and his company was not as welcome as he had believed.

Stony faced, Isabella took the letter.

"A retired major?" She raised her brows. "He seems highly qualified _._ Do you know the man?"

Edward nodded, relieved to have refocused her attention. "He was my commanding officer. The younger son of a baron, he had a respectable inheritance, or so he thought. Upon his return from France, he discovered his father had died and his eldest brother, the heir, had squandered the lot. He is in unexpected need of employment, as a military pension is not enough to live on—not _well_. It is designed to supplement a gentleman's income, not replace it."

"Why did he leave the army?"

Isabella's curiosity seemed to be getting the better of her, and Edward's hopes rose he might yet convince her to stay.

"His wife died while he was abroad, and he resigned his commission to care for his infant son. The boy has a serious ailment of some sort."

"I see." Isabella read the rest of Major Jasper Whitlock's application before looking up to meet Edward's gaze. "The major sounds like an exemplary candidate. You already know the man, so my input is hardly necessary."

Edward's shoulders slumped. "You are leaving me."

"It is past time for me to return to my duties, my lord. I am but a half hour's walk away if you should need me."

"If I _need_ you, I shall send a carriage."

"A carriage?"

Her pointed look—a reminder that Crowley had stripped the estate of much that was of value, including his father's fleet of carriages—was nearly his undoing. It took several deep breaths for him to control his temper.

"I have several carriages being custom built as we speak, Miss Swan." He ground the words between his clenched teeth. "Dodds is on his way to London, as we speak, to purchase a team of four and a ready-made carriage to use in the meantime. His expected return is less than three days hence if you _insist_ on departing."

"Thank you for your consideration, but I am afraid three more days is out of the question." Isabella's smile did not come close to meeting her eyes. "Fortunately, I am not yet too decrepit to manage a little exercise. The walk down the hill will do me good."

"That is your final word on the matter?"

She raised her chin. "What difference could my continued presence possibly make? Your health is greatly improved and your arm recovering best as can be expected. You have a veritable army of servants to cater to your every need and, as you just so eloquently pointed out, there is absolutely _nothing_ between us."

"That is not what I meant," he said, but she had already begun to collect her belongings. "Miss Swan, please. It was not my intention to offend you."

"Why ever would I be offended, my lord?" She turned to face him. "It's a long time since we were childhood friends and, as you have noted on numerous occasions, caring for you was my Christian duty."

Stifling a curse, Edward resisted the urge to take her by the shoulders and shake her. "So, your purpose has been accomplished, and you want nothing more to do with me?"

"Of course not. That's not what I said."

She seemed rattled, but he wasn't sorry. Anything was better than icy disdain.

"I had hoped we might rekindle our childhood friendship," he added, unable to keep the bitterness from his tone. It was futile, but in his heart, he wanted so much more.

"Friendship," she echoed. "That was my hope also."

"Then why are you so determined to leave?"

"Because my family needs me and, contrary to your assumption, even _spinsters_ have reputations to protect. It is nothing personal, my lord. I am merely attempting to be wise."

"I see," he said when it became apparent she was not going to back down. "Then you must be on your way. At least let me arrange for a footman to carry your bag."

"That would be appreciated, though there is no rush. You can have one of the workers drop it off when they return to the village at the end of the day."

Her smile was small, but appeared genuine.

Edward could not muster one in return.

 **~P &P~**

Isabella's leave-taking was accomplished with the same lack of fuss she applied to all her duties. Although Edward thought it poor form when she tried to depart without saying a proper goodbye.

"Thank you, Miss Swan, for everything," he called from the landing as she neared the bottom of the sweeping staircase.

"You are very welcome, my lord," she replied, her face hidden by the brim of her bonnet.

"If there is ever anything I can do to repay you, to assist you or your family in any way, I trust you won't hesitate to ask?"

Isabella looked up, and he caught sight of her lovely eyes for the briefest moment. Then she was gone.

With the aid of his cane, Edward walked as quickly as he could to the nearest door that led to the parapet overlooking the front of the manor. With an ache in his heart he expected to be a permanent fixture, he leaned against the cold, grey stones and watched Isabella depart on her journey down the hill towards the village.

"Is there anything amiss, my lord?" Dawkins asked as he approached.

Edward shook his head.

"I thought you and Miss Swan might like to take your luncheon on the balcony overlooking the south garden," the young man continued, oblivious to the melancholy blanketing his employer like a shroud. "The topiaries are starting to take shape, and there's even some blooms appearing on the roses. It's a lovely view."

"Miss Swan has decided to return to the vicarage."

Dawkins blinked. "You let 'er go?"

Edward let his valet's less-than-respectful tone pass. "It wasn't my choice."

"So sorry, my lord." Dawkins reached to pat his employer's shoulder before withdrawing his hand. The gesture was overly familiar but, under the circumstances, Edward would not have objected.

"It is for the best." He shot Dawkins a glance. "Don't you think?"

The look of confusion on the young man's face changed to one of sorrow as comprehension dawned.

"Aye. Ye might be right," he said. "Miss Swan is a fine lady. It'd be a tragedy if any 'arm was to befall 'er. Beggin' me pardon for sayin' so, my lord."

"You need never apologise for speaking the truth, Dawkins." Edward sighed and turned away from the window now that Isabella was no longer in view.

 **~P &P~**

 **Whimper. Tissues? Sad face? Or maybe you feel like throwing that needlepoint cushion at me! I refuse to feel too guilty, as you only have to wait a day for the next chapter. :)**

 **xx Elise**


	14. Put Upon

**Last chapter certainly caused a reaction! We had sad faces, pouty faces, and threats to strangle Alice's scrawny neck! As PINKSAPPHYR put it, "This is Miscommunication/Misconstruction/Misconception Disaster 101!"**

 **Jansails had a good point, saying "We must remember, Edward has spent his life in the military, mostly at war, not seeking female companionship & conversation. 'He' is not well equipped to battle the minefield of the heart." **

**On the bright side, at some point, Edward will have to go courting. (Squee!) In the meantime, quite a few of you are curious as to what's been going on with Isabella's sisters . . .**

 **xx Elise**

 **~P &P~**

 **Chapter 14**

 **Put Upon**

Isabella's eyes stung, but she refused to allow the tears to fall as she walked away from Masen Manor. Instead, she was tempted to utter a few of the curses with which Edward was so free—the ones she understood at any rate.

Of course, she did not expect anything more than friendship, but how the dratted man could say there was _nothing_ between them, after all they had shared, was beyond her. He had probably only meant to imply there was nothing _untoward_ between them, no feelings of an intimate nature, but that didn't stop the painful tightening in her chest whenever she recounted his hurtful words.

"Foolish woman," she muttered to herself.

After removing a handkerchief from her sleeve, she dabbed at her eyes, determined not to arrive home red-eyed and puffy faced, no matter how wretched she felt.

She should be grateful Edward wanted her friendship, and she was. Truly. It wasn't as if any other man had ever offered as much. At age seventeen, when she had taken her place in society, Isabella had still been bothered by youthfully sensitive skin. Thankfully, it had not been a serious problem, but combined with the fact she had been yet to lose the extra weight she had carried from childhood, her confidence had been minimal. By the time her blemishes cleared and her cheekbones emerged, her mother's health had begun to fail. While other girls her age were marrying and having babies, Isabella had been busy taking caring of her family. Her mother's illness had lasted many years, and Isabella was twenty-four before she was ready to re-emerge into society. Devoid of both dowry and youth, her chances of procuring a husband had been slim, diminishing as each year passed. At twenty-seven they were now non-existent.

Making her way up the path to the vicarage's front door, Isabella raised her chin. Her family must never know of her feelings for Edward. With that end in mind, she summoned whatever latent acting ability she possessed. It would be difficult, at first, but she imagined being re-immersed in her many duties would serve as a distraction.

The thought triggered a sob, and she ruthlessly suppressed it, focusing on the scene before her. After almost a month away, her home of many years looked in need of attention. The rosebushes required dead-heading, weeds ran rampant in her normally well-tended flowerbeds, the windows were overdue for cleaning—it had been next on her list of chores—and cobwebs had sprung up under the eaves.

Whatever had the girls been doing in her absence?

While Isabella always carried the bulk of the burden, to give her sisters as normal an upbringing as possible despite the family's constrained circumstance, they were far from incapable. Surely, they could have carried out _some_ of the chores.

"Hello?" she called upon entering the tiny foyer.

"You are home!" Tanya came running from the parlour and threw herself into Isabella's arms as if she had not seen her in an age rather than the few days since she had last visited the manor. "I have missed you, Isabella. It's been so dreary here without you, and there is so much work to do! Honestly, I have worn my fingers to the bone trying to keep up. You are so much more efficient at everything than Rosalie and me. Oh the baking, the cleaning, the laundry! You make it look effortless, but it is _not,_ I tell you."

"No, indeed," Isabella murmured.

"Give your sister some room, Tanya." Their father patted his youngest daughter's shoulder before welcoming Isabella into his embrace. "It is good to have you home, my dear."

"It is good to be home," Isabella said, her attempt at a smile not a complete failure. "Where is Rosalie?"

"She has gone to help out at the orphanage for a few days," Tanya answered, her expression sobering. "There has been another influx of children . . . a mine accident over in Angeles."

"I see." Isabella needed no further explanation. With the husbands and older brothers dead or grievously injured, the mothers had no alternative but to relinquish some of the children in their care. The first to go were usually already-orphaned nieces and nephews they had taken in but could no longer provide for. It was a horrible choice, but watching a child starve was worse.

"One of the Masen mines?" She looked to her father, and he nodded. Edward hadn't even been informed. The sooner they had a new estate manager employed, the better.

Catching herself using _they_ instead of _he_ , Isabella raised a hand to her heart.

"Is anything amiss?" her father asked.

"No, of course not," she said, hoping God would forgive her for the lie.

After removing her bonnet, Isabella made her way through to the kitchen.

"Have you had your luncheon yet?" she asked, trying not to let her frustration show at the sight of unwashed dishes and an empty fruit basket.

"Not yet," Tanya said. "I was going to serve some leftover mutton pie. Lady Westcott's cook dropped it by a while back. You know the woman; the plump one you're always talking recipes with after service?"

"Mrs Darrow." Isabella searched the larder to see what was on offer. The bread was only a few days old and looked to have been rather lumpy to begin with, but the mutton pie had seen better days. "This is starting to turn," she muttered, unable to keep the crossness from her tone when she thought of all the times she had warned Tanya to be wary of spoiled meat.

"Thank heavens," her father groaned. "I really couldn't have borne another meal of it."

"Tanya, go and collect some salad greens and tomatoes," Isabella instructed, relieved not to have returned home to find her father and sister suffering from gastric distress. "You have been keeping an eye on the back garden?"

Tanya pulled a face before ducking out of the kitchen. Shaking her head, Isabella continued with her inventory, pleased to find the egg basket half full. At least that chore seemed to have been taken care of.

"If I cut the mould off this cheese, I could make omelettes. Would that suffice?"

"That would be wonderful," her father said with feeling. "I can't tell you how glad I am to have you back home, and not just at the thought of a well-cooked meal. Although, it has been slim pickings while you have been away."

Isabella sighed. "I expected better of the girls."

While she admired Tanya's imagination and there was no questioning Rosalie's resolve, there were times Isabella despaired to think what sort of wives the two would make. Admittedly, other girls of their class were required only to _supervise_ the running of their homes, not undertake the work themselves.

"I suppose Rosalie was kept rather busy handling the interviews for the manor," she said.

"She has also been helping me do the rounds of the village. I have been to more of my parishioners' homes in the last few weeks than in all my years as a vicar," her father admitted, shamefaced. "Your mother carried the bulk of that burden, God rest her soul. When she could no longer manage, you stepped in with so little fuss, I barely gave it a thought."

"Don't worry, Papa. You have always been available to those in serious need, and sermons don't write themselves."

"Maybe not, but I am coming to suspect you are altogether too forgiving, Isabella. The three of us combined have struggled to keep up with the work you accomplish single-handedly."

"The girls will never make good matches if their hands are chapped from doing housework," she said, clearing the space she needed to prepare their meal. "Besides, I _like_ taking care of you all."

"I know. I just didn't realise you were so put upon."

Isabella frowned. She didn't like to think of herself that way. While she had missed her chance for a husband and children of her own, it had been worth it to take care of her mother when she was ill and her family when their wife and mother was unable. It was what she would do once her sisters no longer needed her that bothered Isabella the most. As for what her life would look like once her father was gone, she preferred not to think. Caring for her father and sisters gave her a sense of purpose, a life similar to the one she would have had if she had been blessed with a family of her own. Not that some practical assistance wouldn't be welcome on occasion.

Isabella was reluctant to admit it, but there _were_ times she felt worn down from both physical labour and worry for the future. The previous few weeks had been the closest to a holiday she had experienced in years. Her meals had been cooked and served by others, and there had been no chores required of her besides caring for Edward. Not exactly a hardship.

 **~P &P~**

Putting the house back in order took longer than Isabella had hoped due to a steady stream of visitors. She was glad to see her friends from the village, the common folk who professed to have greatly missed her. But it soon became apparent her genteel guests were more interested in gleaning news of the returned viscount than welcoming her home. Worryingly, more than a few questioned the appropriateness of Isabella's stay at the manor.

"And there was no one besides the elderly caretakers to act as chaperone?" she was asked on several occasions.

"No, but a _spinster_ hardly requires the same degree of supervision as a debutante," she countered, determined to squelch that line of thinking by reminding these self-same members of society about the label they had been quick to pin on her in the first place. Her strategy seemed to work, though their assurances that, of course Isabella would never be engaged in disreputable behaviour as she was far too _old_ and _sensible_ for such nonsense, were more difficult to take than usual. Rumours continued to abound, but they involved Edward alone. With her patience stretched paper thin, Isabella was required to dispel the untruths that the newly returned viscount was missing half his limbs, crazed in the head, and a potential threat to every maiden in the district.

"Utter nonsense," she muttered beneath her breath, struggling to maintain a polite demeanour with Mrs Stanley and her two marriageable-aged daughters. "Lord Masen's scars are neither gruesome nor extensive, and he most definitely has _both_ his ears."

"It is not just his fearful appearance that has everyone in a twitter," Mrs Stanley persisted, crassly in Isabella's estimation. " _I_ heard from Mrs Walters who heard from Lady Brandon that the viscount has returned to Forkton in search of a _wife_."

Mrs Stanley's daughters cringed, and Isabella only just refrained from rolling her eyes.

"Lord Masen returned to the manor after he was seriously wounded in service to the King. He was in expectation of his death, _not_ matrimony."

"But he didn't die. What if he should want to marry my Jessica or my Lauren?" Mrs Stanley flapped her hands in front of her face, blinking back tears. "I hear he is tremendously wealthy and would be willing to pay an exorbitant bride price. You wouldn't happen to know the exact amount, by any chance? Not that it has any standing, of course, as I could not bear to lose one of my precious girls in childbirth. Although my grandson _would_ be the next Viscount Masen."

Holding on to her temper by the barest of threads, Isabella's tone verged on the uncivil. "As I have already said, the viscount is not currently seeking a wife. But if he should ask for one of your daughters' hands in marriage, Mr Stanley is well within his rights to just . . . say . . . _no_."

Isabella couldn't imagine Edward being interested in either of the simpering girls with their bland faces and limited conversation, but she didn't voice the opinion. It was not in her nature to be cruel and, besides, what did she know? Beggars couldn't be choosers. She would have been willing to marry the horrid Mr Hunter if he had been interested in her rather than Tanya. If Edward decided he wanted a wife, his choices would be limited. Although it appeared if the price was high enough, more than one local family would be willing to sacrifice a daughter.

 **~P &P~**

It was with relief Isabella welcomed her absent middle sister home a few days later, enthused at the prospect of some sensible conversation.

"Is there anything amiss?" Rosalie asked after separating herself from Isabella's longer-than-usual embrace. "Your eyes are puffy."

"A touch of rose cold, that's all." Isabella wasn't about to admit she had succumbed to a bout of tears during the night, or that she was missing Edward dreadfully. The behaviour was so uncharacteristic of the vicar's normally imperturbable eldest daughter, Rosalie would have insisted she dose herself with one of Alice's tonics. It was one thing to administer them, another to endure them personally.

"Was the house in an acceptable state when you returned home?" Rosalie asked in a hopeful tone. "I left a list of chores for Tanya—"

"A list I fear she must have waylaid."

"Oh well." Rosalie shrugged. "It's a good thing you enjoy housework. Personally, I can think of more important things to be doing with my time. Don't you ever get sick of it?"

Isabella gasped, stung by her sister's words.

"Since when have I had any choice in the matter?"

Turning on her heel, she strode from the room, fearing if she stayed she would say something regrettable.

"Isabella?" Rosalie found her a little while later in the washhouse, dampening down a mountain of linens in preparation for ironing. "I am sorry if I offended you. I thought you enjoyed taking care of the family."

"I _do_ enjoy it. Well, except for the laundry. And I could happily forgo scrubbing floors." Isabella sighed before looking up to meet her sister's worried gaze. "Has it never occurred to you that I might have wanted a home of my own with servants to assist me? A husband? _Children?_ "

Rosalie remained silent for a long moment before responding, her tone subdued. "I forget how much you have sacrificed for all of us."

Isabella lifted a shoulder. "If you had been in my shoes, you would have done the same thing."

"With far less grace, I imagine. It is a good thing Tanya wasn't the eldest, as she would have high-tailed off after adventure at the first opportunity, leaving us all in the lurch."

"Probably." Isabella smiled. "We shouldn't be too hard on her. She is young."

"The same age you were when Mama first became ill."

Rosalie's words brought Isabella up short. Maybe her father was right, and she had spoiled Tanya. Rosalie, too, for that matter. But she couldn't help wanting her younger sisters to experience all the things she never would. At least Tanya seemed somewhat inclined to oblige her with dreams of a romantic union. Rosalie, on the other hand, ran the risk of following in Isabella's footsteps with her unconventional demeanour. Respectable gentlemen were not interested in a dowry-less young lady with an active social conscience, no matter how attractive.

"Am I forgiven?" Rosalie fluttered her eyelashes, reminding Isabella that _neither_ of her sisters suffered from a deficit of charm.

"If you help me with the ironing," she said, chuckling at Rosalie's exaggerated groans.

 **~P &P~**

 **Put upon, indeed! Any guesses for which Regency fiction character Mrs Stanley is based on? I can just picture her fluctuating between crocodile tears and greedy conniving.**

 **Until tomorrow,**

 **xx Elise**

 **PS, Thank you so much for your continued support of this story. I read every review, replying when I'm asked a question or when I get the chance. They nearly always make me all smiley and gooey, though a few had me hiding behind the couch last chapter and feeling grateful I live in such a remote corner of the globe! ;)**

 **PPS: Oops! I forgot to mention that Jennifer Jennings (Fallingsnow Winter) has made some wonderful banners for Passion and Propriety. You can see the larger one on my facebook page where I've put it up as a banner. :) 3**


	15. Extravagant

**Hello Again Lovely Peeps!**

 **Of course, as many of you deduced, Mrs Stanley is based on Mrs Bennett from Pride and Prejudice. "Oh, my nerves!"**

 **A lot of you are very cross with Tanya and Rosalie. While they are very spoiled, they are no different to almost any other female of their class. They were expected to lead lives of, what we would consider, idleness. A well brought up young lady was given a limited education, including learning how to sing, play pianoforte (if her family were wealthy enough to own one), arrange flowers, embroider, recite poetry, write letters of correspondence, and perform charitable deeds, such as handing out food baskets to the poor. She would be expected to supervise her household staff in their duties and decide what was on the menu, but she rarely if ever got her hands dirty. Some minor sewing or mending was the closest many ladies would have come to actual work! Isabella's parents, though not very wealthy, would have still had servants to assist them. It is only in recent years that they'd had to be let go and she gradually took over more and more of the chores until she was doing it all. :(**

 **We don't hear from Edward directly in this chapter, but we do find out a little of what he's been up to! I hope you enjoy.**

 **xx Elise**

 **~P &P~**

 **Chapter 15**

 **Extravagant**

A week after her departure from Masen Manor, Isabella rose early to work in the garden. Dressed in her oldest, plainest gown, she was not expecting visitors so early in the day, and at the sound of a man clearing his throat, she startled. Looking up, she was stunned tosee a large group of men standing just outside the vicarage gate, fronted by a neatly dressed gentleman.

"You frightened the daylights out of me," she said, lurching to her feet.

"My sincerest apologies, my lady." The gentleman bowed low. "Might I have a moment of your time?"

"Very well." Whilst a legitimate member of the gentry, she was not so highly placed as to possess the title of lady and quickly set the man to rights. "But I am not sure whom you think you are addressing. I am _Miss_ Isabella Swan—"

"And to be treated with the utmost respect on the express instructions of His Lordship, Viscount Masen."

The obsequious-looking gentleman spoke as if he was making an announcement in court, and Isabella barely stifled a snort. Although she couldn't help being pleased to hear Edward had spoken of her so highly.

Rosalie had told her about the visitors to Forkton who had travelled with her on the coach from Thornlie. Major Whitlock had come to accept the position of estate manager, accompanied by his sickly looking young son. He was a handsome, fair-haired gentleman, and Rosalie had thought him stuffy but tolerable. There was also a gentleman from a London bank and an odd little fellow Edward had employed to assist him with correspondence and paperwork.

"Lord Masen's new personal secretary, I presume?" Isabella didn't imagine there were too many newcomers to the village with bald heads rimmed by rust-coloured hair.

"Mr Jenks at your service." He repeated his bow.

Embarrassed by her less-than-presentable appearance, Isabella offered him a token curtsy.

"Please, let me offer my sincerest and most humble apologies for appearing at your door at this unconscionable time of the day. Although His Lordship did say you are an early riser—an admirable attribute, if I may be so bold as to comment. As time is short, and I have so very much to accomplish, I thought I would take the risk of approaching—"

"It is not a problem." Isabella recognised a long-winded speaker when she met one. "What can I do for you, Mr Jenks?" Frowning, she glanced at the group of men accompanying him. She couldn't possibly fit them all inside the parlour and was at a bit of a loss as how to proceed.

"It is what _we_ can do for you, Miss Swan." Mr Jenks beamed. "I am here to take an inventory of whatever repairs, renovations, and extensions are needed on the church and vicarage and to see to their being carried out immediately. His Lordship has instructed me to put the best team on the job and has stated _your_ needs are his number-one priority."

Isabella wasn't used to being rendered speechless, and it took her a moment to gather her wits.

"Extensions?"

"Yes, subsequent to your approval, of course. His Lordship remembers the vicarage as being rather modest. He suggests a new kitchen, indoor bathing room, and he imagined a sun lounge built along the southern wall would be to your liking. He would also like to extend an invitation to your family to stay at the manor whilst the work is being undertaken. You are not to worry about the distance from your father's parishioners, as a carriage will be put at your disposal. If you would like some time to consider his offer, I shall set the team to work on the church, which His Lordship suggests could do with a proper vestry and meeting hall—along with a new roof, of course—if the vicar is in agreement."

"The vicar is in astonishment," Isabella's father said, coming to stand at her side. She hadn't heard him approach and reached for his arm for support.

"What's this about a sun room?" Tanya asked, and Isabella looked over her shoulder to see her sisters standing on the path behind their father, drawn by the commotion. They were wearing their robes and slippers and should have known better than to come outside when there were visitors about. Under the extraordinary circumstances, Isabella let it go.

In somewhat of a daze, she watched while Mr Jenks made the introductions. In no time, the vicar was engaged in conversation with the construction manager who had stepped forward from the crowd.

"Do you mind if I go over to the church?" Isabella's father asked her, eager to begin making plans.

"Not at all," she murmured in the direction of his retreating form before turning back to Edward's new secretary. "Could you please let Lord Masen know we are extremely grateful for his kind and generous offer, but I think I would rather give him my reply in person after I have had opportunity to discuss the matter with my father."

"Certainly, Miss Swan." Mr Jenks bowed again.

Isabella found his manner grating and wondered why Edward had employed the man. But when he went to retrieve a small bag he had left near the garden gate, she noticed he walked with a limp.

"Mr Jenks, did you, by any chance, serve with the viscount in the military?"

"I did, indeed," he said, returning with a pile of envelopes in his hands. "I was his chargé d'affaires before injury forced my early retirement. However did you guess?"

"Just a hunch." Isabella took the envelope he extended and saw her name written in Edward's bold script on the front. Hesitating, she was torn between wanting to read it in private and opening it immediately to find out what it contained.

"His Lordship asked that you read his letter before I hand out the rest of the envelopes," Mr Jenks said, giving Isabella all the permission she needed to break open the wax seal.

 _My Dear Miss Swan,_ she read and almost dropped the sheet of parchment.

Without the _My,_ she would have thought nothing of the appellation, but those two little letters changed the context entirely.

"What does it say?" Tanya tried to read over her shoulder, and Isabella spun away.

"Give me a minute, and I will find out."

 _My Dear Miss Swan,_ she read again, forcing herself to breathe evenly.

 _I do hope you are in excellent health, well settled, and enjoying your reunion with your family. I would beseech you not to work yourself too hard, though I fear my supplication will have arrived after the fact. Mr and Mrs Cope have enlightened me to your difficult familial circumstance and the many sacrifices you have been forced to make during the years of my absence. I deeply regret the added sorrow and strain inflicted upon your family by one who was charged to act as my ambassador. In the light of this revelation, and as a small measure of my gratitude for your assistance with my recovery, please accept this token of my esteem given with the purest of intentions._

 _My offer of a place for your family to reside whilst the vicarage is temporarily uninhabitable is made with the utmost respect. Please forgive the repetition, but if ever there is anything I can do to be of service, my hope is you would not hesitate to ask._

 _Sincerely yours,_

 _Edward Masen_

He had written _Sincerely yours_ rather than _Yours sincerely,_ as well as including his Christian name. The combination was so extraordinary _,_ Isabella had no choice but to walk across to the garden bench and take a seat. Continuing to stand unaided was not an option.

"Are you all right?" Rosalie would have taken the letter if Isabella hadn't held it tightly to her breast.

"Yes, of course. I'm just feeling a little dizzy," she admitted quite truthfully, scrambling to come up with a suitable excuse. "I must have stood up too quickly. I've not eaten yet this morning, and I have been working in the garden since early."

Rosalie eyed her with bemusement, but Mr Jenks took her litany of excuses seriously.

"Oh, dear," he said. "His Lordship will be most displeased to hear I have kept you from breaking your fast. Let me give you these letters to distribute, and then I shall take up no more of your time. I can drop back later in the day if you would like to send a reply."

"Thank you. That is very kind." Isabella accepted the thick bundle while wishing their audience would leave them in peace. Despite Mr Jenks' assurances, he continued to hover.

Staring at the letters, she couldn't for the life of her imagine what Edward had to say to her sisters and father. After handing the girls the envelopes addressed to them, she opened the one with her name written across the front to discover crisp new notes inside to the sum of one hundred pounds.

"Good Lord." She stared in shock at the extraordinary riches. Tanya's and Rosalie's squeals had her fearing the worst but, thankfully, they had _only_ received ten and twenty pounds apiece. Still exorbitant sums, it was more money than either girl had ever held in her possession. What was Edward thinking? Mr Jenks and his associates made for a very curious audience, and Isabella could only imagine that news of the viscount's generosity to the vicar and his daughters would be all over the village before noon.

"The viscount says the money is in gratitude for my assistance with the hiring of his staff." Rosalie's blue eyes sparkled. "And I am to speak with him about the orphanage's needs at my earliest convenience. He wants to support it _fully_."

"Mine is to thank me for putting up with your absence. _Ten_ pounds for you to go away for a month. Imagine what I'd have received if you had stayed up there for a year?" Tanya's eyes were like saucers. "How much did he give you for taking care of him? I bet he paid you thirty pounds. You could buy an entire wardrobe of gowns with new shoes and bonnets and everything!"

Isabella let silence be her answer, having no intention of disclosing the size of Edward's gift.

"What's in the last envelope?" Rosalie asked, and Isabella turned it over to reveal their father's name. "Do you think it's a reduction in the rent? What an answer to prayer that would be."

A vicarage was normally provided at no cost as part of the parsonage's living, but the previous viscount had not viewed the church favourably. consequently, the rent her father paid was one of the highest in the village. To add to the family's woes, her father's wages—along with those of all the other workers in the district beholden to Masen—had not been paid since Mr Crowley had absconded. More than a month without income, and their straits were dire indeed. Edward's gift to Isabella, if she dared keep it, would go a long way towards solving their immediate concerns, but explaining her windfall would be difficult. A bonus paid to their father would raise fewer questions.

Over a meagre breakfast of tea and toast, her father read his letter from Edward while Isabella and her sisters looked on with bated breath. The colour slowly drained from his cheeks, and he paused several times to take large gulps of tea before continuing. When he had finished, he said not a word but slowly counted out one hundred and fifty pounds upon the kitchen table.

"It is back payment for the increases in my wages that were never passed on," he said with a voice that shook. "Lord Masen says I am no longer required to pay rent, _and_ the glebe is to be returned to us. The fifteen acres behind the church are now mine to manage as I see fit, the profits to supplement the parish income."

"The man is a saint," Tanya whispered. "And to think, when he first arrived, I thought he was a monster."

"Tanya!" Isabella was horrified her own sister would say such a thing.

"Well, you have to admit he did look rather frightful when he first arrived in the village," Tanya persisted unwisely. "I was quite terrified when you insisted on introducing us, but he cleaned up surprisingly well, in a dark, foreboding sort of way. The scar on his face isn't _too_ dreadful, I suppose."

"It is not dreadful at all, and I won't allow you to speak about the viscount in such a vile manner." Isabella rose from her seat and stormed out of the room, leaving her family to stare after her, their mouths agape.

 **~P &P~**

 **I'd say Edward is missing Isabella as much as she is him. Anyone suspect his methods of thanking her for her care might have unsuspected consequences?**

 **Tomorrow is my twin boys and one of their partners combined 30th birthday party, but I'll try to post a chapter after I get back from taking my niece and nephew to the beach and before I have to head out and pick up the cakes. Yay for summer and yay for the Cheesecake Shop!**

 **xx Elise**

 **PS Just a quick note to the guest reviewer who says I must be lying about my silly 'hunt' story, as it doesn't follow proper protocol. This hunt occurred about 40 years ago on some salt flats and amongst thick scrub here in _Western Australia!_ I'm not sure proper hunt protocol was high on the priority list. All I know is I was trailing the others as I wasn't the strongest of riders, and word was passed back that the hounds had lost sight of the poor kangaroo and if anyone spotted it, we were to call out. I spotted it. I called out. My sense of direction has never been great. ;)**


	16. Defence

**Hmmm...we are definitely in the midst of the 'angstier' part of this story! It won't last forever, though. I promise. :)**

 **xx Elise**

 **~P &P~**

 **Chapter 16**

 **Defence**

Once she had calmed down, Isabella's fury was replaced with shame. She had come close to losing her temper several times since arriving home, an uncommon occurrence for someone renowned for her unflappable nature. Not yet ready to face her family and apologise for her outburst, she decided to spend some time in her room writing a shopping list, as the larder was still woefully bare. When a knock came a little while later, she steeled herself to face her father's censure. But when she bid her visitor enter, it was Alice who came through the door.

"You won't believe what the viscount gave me for treating him, Isabella. _Thirty pounds_ with the promise of funding for a permanent nursing post in the village, a generous stipend, and an offer to pay the wages for any apprentices I should choose to train."

"Truly?" Isabella sat forward, letting fall from her lap the list she had been staring at unseen for the last half hour. "It is everything you have ever dreamed of—"

"But never imagined possible." Her friend's expression was a little dazed. "You should see what is happening in the village. It's like Christmas, and Lord Masen's secretary is Saint Nicholas . . . or maybe the viscount is Saint Nicholas, and his secretary is his emissary?" Uncharacteristically befuddled, Alice shook her head.

"I take it the overdue wages have been paid?"

"With generous bonuses. Maintenance crews are inspecting the cottages, shops, and civic buildings, making lists of all the repairs that are needed. The neighbouring villages are to receive similar treatment, but Forkton comes first. Also, there is word all over town that the vicar and his daughters are receiving _preferential treatment_." Alice paused to give Isabella a pointed look before continuing, thankfully not demanding a response just yet. "I saw the viscount's new estate manager ride past. An impressive-looking fellow with golden hair and a splendid beard, though he looked a little proud for my liking. I was reliably informed he was off to inspect the mines and discuss safety measures with the foremen. Can you believe the viscount is acting so decisively?"

"It's what he said he would do." Isabella strove to keep the defensiveness from her tone.

"Yes, but who knew he _meant_ it? I thought toffs were all the same. Out to fatten their purses and increase their position at any cost." Alice frowned and eyed her friend sheepishly. "I think I may have misjudged him."

Isabella smiled but made no comment.

"How much did he pay you for nursing him? The girls weren't making any sense when I arrived, Tanya talking about a shopping expedition to Thornlie to buy a _new_ dress."

The Swan girls were known for their thrift, making over garments given to them by the more charitable members of their congregation. They did not purchase new dresses ready-made. Alice, herself, was clothed from the same source via Isabella's generosity.

"Rosalie was garbling something about the orphans being rescued," Alice continued. "But before I could ask her what she meant, your father waved me through. He said you needed me?"

Isabella's shoulders hunched. "I am afraid I made a bit of a fool of myself earlier. Tanya said something tactless about the viscount, and I overreacted."

"Really? That's not like you. How much did he give you?"

Hesitant to admit the truth, Isabella began by recounting the changes Edward had made to her father's situation first. "On top of that, Tanya received ten pounds for enduring my absence and Rosalie twenty for her good work and the promise of funding for the orphanage."

"Heavens! And you?" Alice was not to be diverted, Isabella grimaced. If the townsfolk had already begun gossiping about Edward's focus on helping the vicar and his family, there was no way she could keep his exorbitant gift.

"One hundred pounds," she whispered, unable to keep the truth from her best friend.

"Good Lord." Alice sat down with a thump. "The situation is more serious than I thought."

"What situation?"

"Between you and the viscount. He is as good as courting you."

"Don't be ridiculous," Isabella said, secretly wishing Alice's assumption were even possible. "You said yourself, he is setting things right throughout the district. In effect, he is giving you and Rosalie far more by offering ongoing funding for your endeavours. That doesn't mean he is going to ask for either of _your_ hands in marriage, does it?"

"No, but the man doesn't stare at either of us like we have hung the moon."

Isabella crossed her arms. "You told me you thought he was a lecher."

"It was a silly lie told to protect you," Alice said, worry contorting her delicate features. "You ignored my warning and developed _feelings_ for him. The man might be of far more sterling character than I had given him credit, his current actions merely confirm my fear that he is interested in you romantically, a fear that remains valid regardless of his generosity. He is not a suitable candidate for your affections."

"My _affections_ are irrelevant." Isabella gestured for Alice to lower her voice, worried they would be overheard. "Edward's generosity is motivated by gratitude, nothing more."

Alice arched a brow. "He may be a worthier gentleman than his predecessors, but do you honestly believe his intentions are honourable?"

"You have just finished saying you think he wants to court me. What, pray tell, is dishonourable about that?" Isabella rose to her feet, her ire increasing as she felt the need to defend Edward once more.

"An _honourable_ gentleman does not condemn his betrothed to death in the asking." Alice stood toe to toe with her friend. "Are you forgetting who he is? Do you _want_ to die in childbirth?"

"Of course not," Isabella scoffed, wishing she could send the blasted curse back to perdition where it belonged. "But you are wrong about his intentions. He sees me as a friend, a _sister_. He has made that very clear in both word and letter." His inexplicable _My Dear_ and _Sincerely yours_ notwithstanding. "Besides," she said firmly. "Edward is a true gentleman. Even if he were interested in me, which he most definitely is not, he would never put another's life at risk. He is as committed to a solitary existence as I am doomed to spinsterhood."

"That may well be, but there is talk all over town linking the two of you together."

"People are curious, that is all."

"Now you are just being obtuse." Alice threw up her hands. "Do you want to end up like me? Shunned by society because you have gone too far beyond the pale? I know you, Isabella. It would destroy you if your father lost the respect of his parishioners and your sisters their chance at a good match because _your_ reputation was ruined. I am not trying to be cruel or unfeeling, but you need to be careful."

"Careful!" Isabella spat the word, stung by her friend's accusation despite its awful truth. "When am I anything but careful?"

Isabella stared glumly at the door Alice had closed rather firmly behind her. They had fought before, her friend often unwilling to "agree to disagree" when she believed strongly in a matter. But Isabella hadn't expected her to leave without their resolving the argument.

Sighing, she sat heavily on her bed, having managed to offend her best friend and lose her temper in front of her family all in the same morning. Surely time would prove to Alice—and the rest of the village—there was nothing of an intimate nature between her and Edward. With an even heavier sigh, she resigned herself to the fact that she would have to return the bulk of the money he had given her and request he do nothing else that could be misconstrued by a suspicious and closely observant society. The task was not one she relished, as she would be reneging on her promise of friendship by cutting herself off from the man she had so unwisely come to love.

Putting her heartache aside, Isabella went to make things right with her family. Restoring her relationship with Tanya proved simple enough. The girl was not one to hold a grudge, and she returned a surprisingly humble apology in response to Isabella's words of contrition. Rosalie was not so easily mollified, even though she denied having taken offence.

"I am not angry with you. I am worried," Rosalie said privately after Tanya departed to catalogue her wardrobe and decide what additions she required. "You haven't developed feelings for the viscount, have you?"

"Of course not." Isabella was surprised at how easily the falsehood flowed from her lips. "I just don't like people speaking badly of someone they don't know."

Rosalie appeared unconvinced. Hoping to distract her sister and make further amends, Isabella instructed her to take Tanya grocery shopping, trusting them with the chore she normally took responsibility for herself.

"Tomorrow, the three of us can go to Thornlie for new dresses," she added as Tanya re-joined them.

"You mean it?" Tanya asked, her youthful expression filled with hope. "I was so worried you would say we had to use the money to pay bills or give it to charity, not that I am opposed to giving a _little_ to those in need. Rosalie probably wants to give all of her money to the orphans."

"Not _all_ of it." Rosalie frowned at her sister. "I can't remember the last time I had a new dress, and I could do with some shoes that haven't already been moulded to someone else's feet. But only if you think we can afford it," she added, looking to Isabella.

"The bonus the viscount gave Papa will buy us some time with Mr Hunter, especially now we won't be required to pay rent," Isabella said. "As for the orphanage, Lord Masen has promised to fund it. After this morning, I believe we can rest assured he is a man of his word."

Relieved to have restored things with her sisters, Isabella presented herself to her father in his study.

"Do you have a moment, Papa?" she asked, taking her usual seat in the padded chair beside his desk.

"Always." His smile was tinged with concern. "I hoped you might tell Alice what was bothering you, but she did not stay long. Is everything all right between the two of you?"

Isabella sighed. "I seem to be doing a good job of alienating the people I care about this morning. Hopefully we won't be at odds for long."

"Your disagreement wouldn't have anything to do with your earlier defence of the viscount, would it?"

"A little. She is suspicious of his motives, but Edward is a _good_ man . . . generous, honourable."

Her father raised a brow. " _Edward?_ "

"I don't call him that to his face, of course, just in my thoughts." Realising that sounded worse, Isabella rushed to add, "Out of habit, because we were friends when we were children. I am perfectly respectful in his presence."

"I don't doubt it." Her father reached to give his eldest daughter's shoulder a reassuring pat. "But you _have_ come to care for him?"

"Well, yes," she said, wary of lying to her father. "Nothing untoward, of course. I care for him like a . . . a _brother,_ a younger brother."

"I see." Her father's impassive expression left Isabella uncertain as to whether he believed her or not.

"I just don't think he deserves the things that are said about him _or_ his lot in life," she said before taking the risk of mentioning her concerns. "It seems a dreadful tragedy he cannot marry without putting his wife's life in mortal danger. I do not understand why God would allow such a thing."

" _Allow_ is the operative word here," her father said. "You know my thoughts on the matter."

"That we reap what we sow. I understand, Papa, but why should Edward reap the consequences of his forebears' actions, or the wives for their husbands'?"

"Ah, but that's the nature of curses. To our modern way of thinking, they are neither fair nor equitable, passing the sins of the fathers on to the sons even to the fourth and fifth generation. Yet we see evidence of curses all around us."

"We do?" Isabella was unaware of any other accursed souls in their district.

"How often does the son of a drunkard grow up to follow in the same path as his father, turning to the bottle because he is full of anger and hate over his father's ill-treatment? Gambling, licentiousness, violence towards women and children . . . it rarely springs from out of nowhere."

"But that's at least somewhat comprehensible. People follow the examples that have been shown to them, storing up their hurt and pain and taking it out on the next generation."

"Which is how the sins are passed down and why forgiveness is so important, as is taking responsibility for one's actions regardless of the wrong that has been inflicted by others."

"But you would have to agree the Masen Curse is more sinister in its workings," Isabella insisted, and the vicar slowly nodded.

"A curse inflicted by an African witch doctor does seem to fall into a different category than a propensity for a certain behaviour continuing down a family line."

"You know about the origin of the curse?" Isabella sat back. Her father hadn't mentioned it, and she had been waiting to find the right moment to share Edward's disclosure. "Is there any hope for it to be broken?"

Her father eyed her solemnly. "I have made an in-depth study of the topic over the years."

"Really?" Isabella was most surprised, as she'd had no idea her father ever considered the matter.

"Yes, well it does fall rather close to home and has affected us _all_ in its way."

"What did you discover?"

"What we both already know. That God's love is greater than any evil," he said with confidence. "From my understanding, the viscount is already on the path to redemption. He has done a great deal to redress the wrongs of his forebears, and he continues to act in a decent, I would go as far to say _Godly,_ manner . . ."

"But?" she asked when he hesitated.

" _But_ could he be so easily persuaded to trust the curse has been lifted? Is his faith unwavering?"

Comprehending her father's meaning, Isabella's shoulders slumped. "The viscount's faith is irrelevant. He would never risk the life of another."

"It would seem his honourable nature requires him to walk a lonely road." Her father sighed. "Fear not. He will be rewarded for both his sacrifice and his efforts."

"Just not with a wife or family of his own," she murmured, her expression mirroring the bleakness of her thoughts.

 **~P &P~**

 **Eep! I'm with you guys and ready to see a light at the end of this tunnel, but I fear we have a little more angst ahead. On the bright side, next chapter is almost twice as long as the average ones for this story and sees our lovely couple reunited. As a bonus, it is from Edward's POV...and boy, is our viscountward smitten. ;)**

 **xx Elise**

 **PS: Are we still hating Alice or has she been forgiven...a little?**


	17. Gracious

**I wasn't sure if I'd get a chapter posted tonight, as I spent the day with my lovely daughter and gorgeous granddaughter who is sleeping over for a couple of nights. (YAY!)**

 **The consensus is fairly evenly split between those who feel Alice is just trying to be a good friend and those who feel she is a jealous busy body and should take a hike! I'll admit, this Alice is prickly, and scared, and maybe a tad jealous. But she does believe the curse is real, as do the rest of the district's residents, so her fears are genuine. It's a bit of a long story, but let me know if you would like me to explain my reasoning/inspiration for writing about a curse, of all things.**

 **Thank you, again and again, for your wonderful response to this story. I'm so glad you're enjoying the daily updates.**

 **xx Elise**

 **~P &P~**

 **Chapter 17**

 **Gracious**

For a man who was not typically concerned with his appearance, Edward thought it rather ironic he had acquired the service of _two_ valets, Dawkins having finagled his way into the role of assistant to the recently arrived Markham. He had to admit, however, that due to their combined efforts, he looked every bit the perfectly presented gentleman. One only had to ignore the scar that ran down the side of his face, the arm that hung awkwardly at his side, and the fact he walked with a limp.

Ignoring the pain that jumped from dull to sharp whenever he instigated movement, he flexed his fingers, pleased when he was able to form a vague approximation of a fist. It wouldn't pack much of a punch—his days as a pugilist for the Royal Fusiliers were well behind him. But it was a marked improvement on the first time he had attempted the exercises Miss Brandon had recommended to assist with his recovery.

At least the injury was to his left arm. Hunting with a rifle would prove a challenge, and archery was out of the question, but with his right hand he still had mastery over a pen, a horse, a sword, and a pistol. Dinner parties would be interesting affairs, as cutting up his food one-handed was a skill he had yet to acquire. Not that he had been inundated with invitations to social engagements since his return. His peers might be keen to reap the benefits of his endeavours to restore the district, but he did not imagine their antipathy towards him would wane any time soon.

"Buck up," he muttered to his reflection.

There was much to be thankful for.

Rectifying the travesties that had occurred under his name had supplied him with a purpose that would keep him busy into the foreseeable future. He was pleased to be able to offer employment to returned soldiers who otherwise might have found themselves cast aside by a society that venerated courage but frowned upon imperfection. Several of his new employees were fellow officers with whom he shared a common history, men who had known him as the competent and loyal Captain Masen.

Fortunately, the curse that caused others to maintain a wary distance was of no great significance to his comrades. Of course, time could change their attitudes as it had Miss Swan's when her friend had warned her of his interest.

Recalling the letter he'd had Jenks deliver to Isabella four days prior, Edward groaned. He could not help wondering what fool inclination had propelled him to address her in such an intimate manner. It wasn't as if his missive had been hastily written. He had laboured over it for a ridiculous length of time. The one he finally settled upon was his seventh or eighth attempt at finding the right words to convey his true sentiment.

He should have settled for half-truths.

While he had hoped to hear back from Isabella immediately, she had told Jenks she would prefer to speak to him in person. Her decision left Edward conflicted. On the one hand, he welcomed the opportunity to converse with her for any reason. On the other, he was apprehensive about what she might have to say. To his disappointment, her father had directed renovations be completed on the church _before_ work began on the manse.

He should have sent two teams.

He had hoped to have Isabella living back under his roof by now, his intention to savour more of her company and consolidate their friendship. To what end, he had been reluctant to admit . . . until now.

"Because you are a cad," he told his reflection before turning away and limping to the bedroom window to survey his rapidly transforming domain.

He had Isabella to thank for the improvement in his leg, although he tried to suppress the memories of her strong but gentle fingers working the knots out of his injured thigh. The indulgence was not one he deserved. To his shame, he sought to repay her efforts on his behalf by capturing her affections, so desperate was he for the gift of her friendship. It was a tepid imitation of his true desire but one he could not seem to deny himself.

"Your carriage awaits, my lord," Markham said, interrupting his brooding.

Edward turned to face his servant-cum-friend who stood in the doorway, Edward's cane at the ready. It was a good thing he had learned to hide his emotions over the years, he mused on the drive to attend the Sunday service. At least his trepidation at facing the peers who had previously shunned him and the tenants and workers he had unwittingly abandoned would not be written on his face. The anticipation he felt at seeing Isabella again after ten interminable days was another matter, and he warned himself to keep his enthusiasm in check.

After exiting his new carriage, and taking a moment to make certain his footing was sure, Edward looked up and was confronted by a sea of faces. The size of the crowd gathered outside the church was unexpected, the congregation having swelled considerably since his previous visit when he had sneaked inside, unrecognised.

He stifled a curse.

All conversation ceased, just a faint susurrus of murmurs accompanying him as he walked along the pathway to the church's entrance. Resisting the temptation to stare at the ground, Edward nodded politely at familiar faces and was met with nods from the gentlemen and curtsies from the ladies. The younger misses, those who were not already hiding behind their mothers' skirts, paled noticeably at his passing.

This time, rather than a curse, Edward stifled a sigh.

He would need to alert the local society to the fact they had nothing to fear from him, as he had no interest whatsoever in their budding debutantes. If matrimony were an option, he would look no further than the vicar's supposedly unmarriageable eldest daughter for a bride.

What a to-do such an act on his part would create.

His pleasure at the thought faded as he considered what it must mean for Isabella to have reached her advanced age without marrying. While he knew little of the dreams of young ladies, he doubted spinsterhood was something to which they aspired. Isabella's position in society was only marginally more acceptable than his, and through absolutely no fault of her own.

With the insight, he came to the realisation he probably should _not_ have repeatedly reminded her of her unenviable status in his failed attempt to prolong her stay at the manor. It hadn't seemed to win him any favours, quite the opposite in fact. He must remember not to bring it up again.

As Edward approached the portico, he could hear the object of his thoughts—almost _all_ his thoughts—playing a familiar hymn on the organ. _Blast._ He would have to wait until the end of the service to speak with her.

"Welcome, Lord Masen," the Reverend Swan said warmly when he entered the vestibule. "It is a pleasure to see you up and about. I take it you are on the mend?"

"Yes, indeed. No small thanks to the excellent care I received from your daughter." Edward made sure to keep his voice low, unsure whether Isabella's stay at the manor was common knowledge. Despite his belief her fears were exaggerated, he was not so out of touch with the politics of country life as to completely ignore her concerns regarding propriety. The last thing he wanted to do was repay her kindness by inflicting damage to her reputation.

"I would like to offer my gratitude for your generosity," the vicar said.

Edward nodded. "You are very welcome, Reverend. No thanks are needed."

Despite the kind greeting from the vicar, memories of an unpleasant nature assaulted Edward as he made his way down the church's central aisle. His destination was the elaborately carved Masen pew—the one he had sat in alone as a boy and expected to occupy singly as a man. To his surprise, he was interrupted in his journey by some of the local villagers who had taken their seats in the rearmost pews. The front third, yet to be filled, belonged to the various society families in order of rank, Edward's pew located at the very front of the church, of course.

"Welcome 'ome, me lord." A plump, older woman stood and curtsied, her actions echoed by those around her. "Thank ye ever so much for seein' to the wages."

"And for the bonuses. Mighty generous of ye, me lord." The next speaker was a vaguely familiar-looking young man. A woman holding a small babe stood at his side.

"You're welcome. Mr Davies, is it? The blacksmith's son?" Edward hoped he had remembered correctly.

"Aye." The man's face lit up. "Martin Davies, and this be me wife, Sally, and our little un, Harry. I work in the mines, but I'm also a farrier, workin' in the yard alongside me father's smithy. I took care of that fine 'orse of yours when ye first arrived. 'Twas right sad to see 'im go, I was."

"Then you must visit him," Edward said. "I shall be needing a farrier, as I am rapidly filling the stables and hope to have a breeding program up and running before too long. Make an appointment with my secretary, if you are interested, and we can discuss terms."

"Thank ye, me lord." The young man's eyes widened until they seemed to take up half his face, not unlike the babe in his wife's arms. Edward's lip twitched, the action surprising him, as he had never been tempted to smile in church before.

"Ye're lookin' well, me lord. Much better than was reported when ye first arrived," the plump woman said. "Miss Swan took good care of ye?"

"Very good care, indeed . . . as did Miss Brandon," he added deliberately.

"Miss Isabella's very well thought of by all us folks 'ere in the village." The woman's words were echoed quietly by those around her. Their expressions had sobered, and Edward sensed a definite warning.

"Miss Swan is an admirable lady on all accounts," he said, hoping to set their fears to rest before continuing his journey to the front of the church.

Their comments alarmed him. Not the sentiment—of course they wouldn't want the beloved vicar's daughter entangled with the likes of him—but he was troubled as to what had triggered their concern in the first place. His sense of foreboding increased as the gentry took their seats behind him, and he overheard Isabella's name mentioned by the young ladies who were clearly distressed by his mere presence. Unsurprisingly, none of his peers engaged him in general conversation, unlike the villagers. It had been that way for as long as he could recall. The further removed by station people were from the threat of the Masen Curse, the more accepting they were of him as a person. Edward raised his brows when the vicar approached with a request that he share his pew, the church being filled to overflowing.

"Certainly." He smiled at the arrival of Isabella's sisters.

"Are you sure you don't mind us joining you?" Rosalie asked somewhat warily.

"Not at all. There is plenty of room."

Isabella had introduced her sisters to him a few days before she had left the manor. Both girls were fair haired and strikingly pretty, the youngest quite angelic in appearance. But it was testament to the degree of his infatuation with the eldest Swan daughter that the only things that had interested him about the younger two were those attributes they had in common with their sister. There was little time for pleasantries as the vicar made his way to the front of the church, though both girls offered a quick word of thanks for Edward's gifts.

"We went shopping in Thornlie on Friday," the younger girl said. "Don't our new gowns look divine?"

"Tanya," Rosalie whispered, her expression one of rebuke.

Edward found the youngest sister's ingenuousness disarming, and was, once again, tempted to smile.

"They do indeed," he said, wondering if Isabella would also be wearing a new gown, and if that was the reason the locals' suspicions had been aroused. She had earned every penny of the payment he had given her, so there was no reason for anyone to consider his actions untoward.

Hope rose fleetingly in his chest that Isabella might come and join her sisters once the singing was concluded, but she did not. To his frustration, he couldn't see her from his location without twisting around in the pew and craning his head, an obvious move that would spark curiosity as to the object of his interest . . . and there was no denying he was interested.

Edward brought his thoughts sharply into line. While he gladly would have indulged himself with memories of his many encounters with Isabella—and the affection they had inspired—some of them were not suitable for contemplation in church.

After placing a sizable donation on the offering plate, he partook of communion then settled back to hear the sermon. Once again, he found himself enjoying the Reverend Swan's oration. As the message continued, however, Edward couldn't help wondering if it was not aimed at or somehow about . . . _him._ To his bewilderment, the vicar had chosen to address the topic of curses, specifically how they came about and how they could supposedly be defeated.

"As light is more powerful than darkness, so God's love is more powerful than any curse the enemy would use to enslave us. Let us have faith that we _all_ can be set free from the curse of sin and death."

The reverend's final words echoed in Edward's ears long after silence had fallen over the church. Was Isabella's father saying the Masen Curse could be broken? Uncertain as to the man's motives in issuing such a provocative statement, Edward chose to concentrate on the sound of Isabella's voice as she led the congregation in the final hymn.

"Well, that was fascinating," Rosalie murmured dryly after the benediction was given. "Do you think the message may have been for you, my lord?"

Edward was saved from responding when the vicar came to thank him for attending the service. His eyes lit up when Isabella's father extended an invitation to join his family for supper some evening.

"I would be honoured," Edward said, blinking in surprise.

"Excellent." The vicar smiled broadly. "I would like to discuss the issues raised in today's sermon in more detail, my lord. Now, if you will excuse me, I must attend to the congregation."

"Certainly." Not at all comfortable with the ideas the vicar had presented, Edward kept his reply short, fearing a more detailed response might not be fully reasoned or particularly civil. False hope had been his father's undoing—though his mother had paid the ultimate price—and Edward had no intention of travelling down that path.

Separated by the milling crowd as they made their way out of the church, Edward was able to catch only fleeting glimpses of Isabella. She was wearing a gown he had not seen before—peach-coloured with cream trim and a matching cream bonnet. He knew little of fashion but thought it rather fetching.

"She wants to speak to you," Rosalie said in a quietly worded aside, confirming his secretary's missive. "But may I suggest you wait until later to approach her? Now that this lot have got her ear, she won't be available for an age. It's a weekly ritual. Half of them require her to fawn over them to boost their fragile egos and the other half to listen to their woes. Although there are those who simply enjoy the pleasure of her company."

Edward raised a brow at the young woman's irreverent disclosure. "I wouldn't want to cause your sister any distress by drawing undue attention."

"That is probably wise, my lord. Why don't you pay your respects to your parents' graves? It _was_ what you were attempting to do the day you arrived, was it not?"

Edward nodded, and Rosalie continued with her obvious plotting.

"It is Isabella's practice to visit our mother's grave on Sundays, usually after the midday meal, but I am sure I can convince her that a change in her routine would be beneficial. The crowd will have cleared in less than half an hour. Are you up to standing for that long?"

"I am sure I shall manage," he said, raising a brow. If Isabella wanted to speak with him, he would sit on a damned tombstone while he waited for her if necessary.

Edward was greeted more warmly after the service than he had been prior. The roof not falling in at his presence had probably helped. A number of gentlemen appeared keen to renew their acquaintance, mostly to discuss recent events and Edward's plans for the district. But the invitations that would typically have been proffered to the most senior member upon his return were thin on the ground. The exception was a Mr Stanley, prompted by his rather strident wife, who requested he visit them for tea at his earliest convenience. One glance in the direction of the man's terror-struck daughters and Edward kept his reply vague.

Outside the front of the church, he managed to capture Isabella's gaze on two occasions. The first time, he offered her a brief nod, the second a smile. Both times, she frowned and looked away, her reaction not boding well for their reunion.

He had been unwise, indeed to keep reminding her of her spinsterhood.

When he was finally able to take his leave, Edward made his slow but steady way up the hill to his family's plot, impatient for Isabella's arrival. A cemetery was not the ideal location for meeting with a young lady, but at least the outlook over the fallow fields to the forest was pleasant.

After spending a moment at his father's grave, he looked down upon the one that held the remains of his mother. What little he knew about the lady who gave him life had come from the Copes, as his father had refused to speak of her and reacted with a typical degree of violence when quizzed. Dark-haired with a hint of red and green eyed, like Edward, she was only fifteen when her father—on the verge of ruin due to gambling debts—had traded her to the Fourth Viscount Masen to see them cleared. As a boy, Edward had not been contacted by a single member of his mother's family, not once. As a man, he had returned the favour, having no desire to meet the people who had abandoned his mother, and her child, to their fate.

With that sobering thought at the forefront of his mind, Edward watched Isabella walk up the hill towards him. Stopping some feet away, she curtsied, her smile noticeably absent.

"Thank you for agreeing to see me, Lord Masen. I am sorry to have kept you waiting."

His body moving in direct disobedience to the dictates of his conscience, he closed the distance between them. Bowing low, he brought her fingers scandalously close to his lips.

"Good day to you also, Miss Swan," he said upon straightening. "I trust you are well?"

She stared at him for a moment before responding. "Surely _I_ should be the one asking _you_ that particular question?"

"As you can see, I am greatly recovered. Well, as much as I shall ever be, I suspect." He demonstrated the feeble pincer movement the fingers on his left hand were now capable of making.

"You may yet regain more strength," she said, the compassion in her gaze warming his heart.

"The hand's not completely useless." Edward shrugged. "Certainly better than no hand at all, and my leg is vastly improved. I have much to be grateful for and _you_ to thank."

"No thanks are needed, my lord. Certainly no more than have already been given. As to the matter of your excessive generosity—"

"Might I be so bold as to comment on your lovely gown?" he said, hoping to preempt any offer she might make to return his gift. "The colour suits you admirably."

"It does?"

Isabella stared down at her dress, and a surge of anger rose within Edward at the realisation she was so unused to receiving compliments on her appearance that his words left her perplexed.

"It is a new outfit." She smiled hesitantly. "Rosalie and Tanya helped choose it. The three of us went shopping with some of the money you gave us."

"I am very glad to hear it." Edward put as much assurance into his tone as he could. "The bonnet is particularly fetching. The colour of the braid brings out the gold flecks in your eyes."

Isabella's mouth dropped open for a moment before she snapped it shut.

"Thank you," she said, as colour rose in her cheeks. "You look exceedingly handsome in your formal attire."

A guffaw erupted from Edward's lips. "Now, now, Miss Swan. My compliment was given with all sincerity and not to elicit a highly improbable one in return."

"But I meant it," she said. "You look very dashing."

His head jerked back. It would seem he was no more used to receiving compliments than she was.

"There was something you wished to speak with me about?" he asked, deciding further attempts to distract her would be excessive.

"Your generosity to my family is greatly appreciated, but I fear a gift of one hundred pounds to me, personally, is open to misinterpretation."

Her words confirmed his fears, and he frowned. "It was not my intention to cause you difficulty. If it is too much, you can give the excess to the poor, I suppose. I would rather you kept it for yourself as a token of my gratitude and esteem."

"It is not _just_ the money, my lord. The favour you have shown my family has people assuming there is something of a, well, an _intimate_ nature between us."

She looked so distressed by the notion Edward took a step back.

"I have stated plainly that this is not the case, as I want nothing more than friendship. Maybe I should have an announcement made informing the general populace I am not now nor ever will be in the market for a wife!"

Isabella flinched.

"What?" He couldn't keep the bitterness from his tone. "Is friendship out of the question also?"

She raised her chin. "Not if it was up to me, but society does not allow for an association between those of different genders, not when the parties involved aren't closely related by marriage or blood."

"Do their opinions mean that much to you?" Edward gestured towards the church where the few remaining parishioners could be seen making their farewells.

"In as much as they impact upon my family, yes, their opinions _do_ matter. Without dowries or connections, my sisters cannot afford any scandal becoming attached to our name."

"I see." Edward's shoulders drooped. While he had no desire to offend her further, he felt left with little choice but to use the only ammunition at his disposal. "I thought your having reached the age of spinsterhood protected you from censure?"

"So did I, but it appears I was wrong."

Isabella's lower lip trembled, and he inwardly railed at being unable to offer her comfort.

"So that's it, then?" he asked, pain making his tone harsher than he had intended. "Even friendship is out of the question?"

"Yes. I am afraid so. Maybe after some time has passed—"

Edward cut her off with a slice of his hand. "If there is one thing I have learned about the _ton_ , it is that memories are long and compassion non-existent. I will let it be known my interest in improving the church and vicarage is self-serving. I find your father's preaching surprisingly tolerable—today's topic notwithstanding—and I don't fancy having to look for a new vicar if the current one succumbs to illness due to a leaking manse. Nor do I want to sit in a church that is at risk of losing its roof. We can blame my newfound religious fervour on my recent brush with death. Will that do?"

Isabella nodded in reply, her cheeks flushed and eyes suspiciously glassy. Edward managed a stiff bow.

"Goodbye, then, Miss Swan. I will leave you to visit your mother's grave alone. Escorting you would be the more gentlemanly thing to do, but we wouldn't want anyone to see us together, would we?"

"No, that's probably for the best." Blinking rapidly, she lowered her gaze. "Thank you again for your generosity, my lord."

"It was nothing."

Isabella wiped her eyes, and Edward's conscience berated him for his curtness. His anger dissipated like floodwater soaking into desert sand.

"Miss Swan, I _do_ apologise for causing you distress, and I want you to know my offer still stands. If you are ever in need, of _anything_ . . ."

She straightened her shoulders and met his gaze. "Thank you, my lord. That is very gracious of you."

There was nothing gracious about the state of Edward's roiling emotions as he turned and limped away.

 **~P &P~**

 **Gah! I know, I know! This is agonising, but I promise, it's rock bottom. Next chapter is the one many of you are waiting for. Well, maybe not _the_ one you're waiting for (that would be a bit premature!), but I promise things take a turn for the much, much better. :)**

 **Hit me with your thoughts. I can take it...I promise (she says, peeking out from behind her fingers!)**

 **xx Elise**


	18. Reputation

**You guys are amazing, and sweet, and funny, and passionate, and occasionally downright scary! I am sorry for making you so sad last chapter. I've never really thought of myself as an 'angsty' author, as there are so many scenarios I don't like to read myself and will never write (main character cheating or death, long separations, love triangles, which is funny considering my love of Twilight), but it seems this story is pretty damned angsty regardless! I am hopeful this chapter will leave you feeling a little more hopeful.**

 **xx Elise**

 **~P &P~**

 **Chapter 18**

 **Reputation**

Isabella was hard-pressed to keep up a pretence of normalcy upon her return home. Edward had every right to be hurt and angry. To accept his offer of friendship and then reject it was a dreadful thing to do, but she honestly believed she had had no choice.

With the vague hope her father might have a solution to her dilemma, she sought his company. Unfortunately, he was busy interviewing a young couple who, with the benefit of Edward's bonus payments, could now afford to wed, and they wanted her father to officiate at their wedding. By the time he had finished, the new housekeeper her father insisted they could now afford had arrived. The rest of Isabella's afternoon was taken up helping Mrs Turner settle in and discussing the woman's responsibilities.

"Ye will be employing a kitchen hand and chamber maid?" the middle-aged woman queried. "I don't know how ye've managed all alone, Miss Swan, for I know I shan't be able to."

"There are a handful of girls coming to be interviewed in the morning," Isabella told the visibly relieved housekeeper. Isabella couldn't deny her own relief at having the load she had borne for so long lifted, though she worried her father was overstretching their newly adjusted budget. Finding him alone later that afternoon, she broached another of her concerns.

"Papa, there is something I have to tell you. The viscount gave me a larger amount of money than either Alice or the girls."

"Really? How much are we talking about?"

"One hundred pounds." At her father's stunned expression, she rushed to continue. "I tried to return it this afternoon, but he told me to give the money away if I don't want it. I thought if I kept thirty pounds for myself, the same amount he paid Alice, I could give you the rest to assist with the family finances."

"I see." Her father stared at her over the rim of his reading glasses. "I am sorry to have to ask, but in light of this I need to know if anything untoward occurred between you and the viscount during your stay at the manor."

"Papa! You know I would never do anything to discredit you or the girls."

"Not intentionally, but talk around town is that the viscount is showing preference to our family because he has developed an attachment to you. We both know that is out of the question."

The breath caught in Isabella's throat. "Because I am a spinster and completely undesirable? I am well aware of that fact."

"That's not what I meant at all." Her father rose and came to stand before her, grasping her gently by the shoulders. "You are a lovely young lady and only two years the viscount's senior. What I was referring to is his determination not to pursue matrimony."

"Oh," Isabella murmured, regretting her reaction. "We had hoped to be friends, but that is all. He didn't mean anything inappropriate by his actions."

"I am sure he didn't," her father said. "But appearances can easily be misconstrued. In a position such as ours, we must be wary of giving even the slightest appearance of evil."

Isabella's hopes faded. "Don't worry, Papa. I have informed Lord Masen that friendship is out of the question."

"That is probably for the best."

Despite her father using the exact same phrase she had spoken to Edward, Isabella took no comfort from his words.

 **~P &P~**

Tossing and turning for hours, Isabella wondered how her once-comfortable mattress had acquired so many lumps. Giving up on the previously longed-for opportunity to lie in, she rose early and went downstairs to assist Mrs Turner with breakfast. Isabella had just returned from freshening her appearance in preparation for conducting interviews for additional household staff when there was a knock at the door. The first applicants must have arrived early.

"I'll get it," she called, as Mrs Turner was busy with bread-making and the girls were in the garden. After opening the door, she froze at the sight of Mr Hunter on their doorstep.

"Take me to the vicar," he said, pushing past her.

"My father is busy, Mr Hunter." Isabella rushed to catch up. "You can't just barge in here. You need to arrange an appointment."

"It's all right," her father said, coming to the door of his study at the commotion. "I can make time."

"You will make more than time." Hunter crowded the vicar so that he was forced to step backwards. "I'll have your youngest daughter's hand in marriage without any further delay, or I am calling in your loan."

Isabella normally would have left her father alone with a guest, unwelcome though this one might be, but his threat drew her into the room behind them.

"You cannot do that," she said. "We have got the money to make the overdue loan repayments."

"Your father has fallen behind more than once, nullifying our original agreement. I will not be thwarted this close to claiming my prize."

"My sister is not a _prize,_ and she has no desire to marry a man who would threaten her own father."

"I don't give a damn what she desires." Dismissing Isabella with a sneer, Hunter turned back to her father. "I expect you to set a date for the wedding one month from now."

"I shall do no such thing." Her father stood up to the bullish man despite being half his size. "I will not force my daughter to marry a man more than twice her age and for whom she has no tender feelings. Do you really want a wife who holds you in contempt?"

Hunter shrugged. "She is young and will learn to obey. I'll expect her to perform her wifely duties without complaint if she wants to keep her father out of debtors' prison and her sisters off the streets."

Isabella gasped at the awful man's threats. She looked to her father, her horror deepening when she heard him groan, as if in agony, and saw him clutch at his chest. He staggered a step, and she rushed to help him into his chair.

"I will get the money to pay off the loan," she said, looking back over her shoulder at Mr Hunter. " _All_ of it."

"No, you won't." His smug smile sent a shiver down her spine. "You shan't be running to the viscount for help, not unless you wish to ruin your family's name."

"Explain yourself," the vicar demanded, his voice hoarse as he struggled for breath.

"It is your eldest daughter who needs to explain herself. Or are you already aware she is a fallen woman masquerading as a lady of virtue?"

"My daughter has done nothing to warrant such a heinous accusation. Any gossip you may have heard is completely unfounded."

"I assume you mean the rumours doing the rounds that the viscount has developed a tendre for his nurse? They are not to what I am referring, though they certainly assist my cause." Hunter's smile was devoid of humour. "Are you aware, Reverend Swan, that your daughter took care of Lord Masen all . . . by . . . herself? The Copes were incapacitated, despite what she led everyone to believe. She even shared the man's bed."

"I did no such thing!" Isabella straightened from her position crouching beside her father to face her accuser. "I slept in a chair beside my _patient's_ bed."

"You admit you stayed in the viscount's room _unchaperoned_?"

"The man was unconscious and close to death."

"So, you say. But what about his intimate needs? Can you deny that you, a _maiden,_ took care of those also? Young Jacob Black informed me the Copes were unable to manage the stairs. It is amazing how talkative young boys can be when rewarded with toffees and a penny or two."

Isabella's father groaned again, and she knelt beside him. He appeared to age before her eyes.

"I did nothing improper, Papa, I promise. You saw how ill the viscount was. What else was I to do? I am twenty-seven-years-old . . . the age of spinsterhood. Besides, I have helped nurse male patients before."

"Yes, but how many of your patients have repaid you with extravagant gifts upon their recovery?"

Isabella flinched at Mr Hunter's taunt. "I helped save the man's life. Of course, he is grateful."

"One-hundred-pounds grateful?" Hunter continued, raising a bushy brow. "There are many ways to gain a man's patronage, but a viscount, even a _cursed_ one, would never lower himself to marry a vicar's daughter. There can be nothing honourable in his interest. How well do you think your reputation will hold up when I make known the lengths you were willing to go to earn the viscount's gratitude?"

"You would ruin both my sister's chances in the process."

"So be it," Hunter said with a snarl. "If I can't have Tanya, then no one shall. You have twenty-four hours to decide the fate of your family, Reverend Swan. Don't bother to show me out, I know the way."

Isabella's sisters walked in the door just as Hunter was leaving, his parting comment that Tanya should start preparing for their wedding setting them in a spin.

"What did Mr Hunter mean?" Tanya's voice shook while Rosalie rushed to her father's side. It was only after he had been given a hastily prepared tonic and his colour had started to improve that Isabella repeated Mr Hunter's threats.

"You said it didn't matter that you were caring for the viscount unassisted," Tanya addressed Isabella. "That due to your age and status in society, it wouldn't be frowned upon."

Rosalie pulled a face. "She also made us keep it a secret from Papa. You didn't wonder why that was necessary?"

"It shouldn't have been a problem," Isabella insisted. "Besides, I had no choice."

"One always has a choice." The disappointment in her father's tone weighed heavily on Isabella's shoulders. "If you had informed me of the real situation, I would have worked harder to convince one of the village matrons to assist you. Given the circumstances, someone surely would have agreed to come and stay with you."

Isabella wasn't so sure, but now wasn't the time to argue with her father.

"I am sorry, Papa," she said, clasping her hands together when she saw that they were shaking. "I realised there was a risk, but I honestly didn't believe my reputation was so fragile. Or of any great interest," she added bitterly. "I have long been considered on the shelf."

"But not yet mature enough in years for that to be a safeguard," her father said, his warning coming a little too late. "If you were old enough to be the viscount's mother, the situation would be viewed differently. But there are only two years between you."

 _Two years that might as well be a lifetime_ , Isabella thought later as she looked in the mirror and readied herself to visit Edward. Not that the two of them being the same age would have made any difference. She was still of insufficient status to stand beside him as an equal.

"Do you think the viscount will help?" Rosalie asked from the doorway to Isabella's bedroom. Tanya could be heard weeping in the background even though she had been assured she did not have to marry the odious Mr Hunter.

"He said I should come to him if I am ever in need." Isabella turned to face Rosalie. "Though with Hunter threatening to ruin us even if the debt is paid, I am not sure what help he can give."

"We just need to keep father out of debtors' prison. That's all that really matters," Rosalie said, slicing her hand in a matter-of-fact manner. "As long as we have each other, we will survive. Being a member of the gentry is overrated, if you ask me."

Isabella's lips curved in a reluctant smile at her middle sister's outrageous comment.

"I will be back soon. Keep an eye on Papa, and don't let Tanya do anything foolish. I wouldn't put it past her to sacrifice herself to save us all. It would be very dramatic."

Rosalie rolled her eyes. "Good Lord, that's just what we need. I'll lock the doors, so she can't slip out. _Please,_ return with good news."

"I shall do my best."

A knot formed in Isabella's stomach as she approached Masen Manor, its grey stone façade glistening in the early summer sun. She had considered waiting until after dark, but if it was discovered she had visited Edward clandestinely, it would make matters even worse.

"I'm just visiting the Copes," she boldly informed several of the workers toiling to bring the gardens to life—men she recognised from the village.

" 'is Lordship will be right pleased to see ye, also," a Mr Samson called.

After responding with a weak smile, Isabella headed in the direction of the servants' entrance. Hearing Edward call her name behind her, she turned to face him. Her heart beat hard in her chest at the sight of his tall, broad-shouldered form impeccably dressed in a dark coat, white breeches, and long black boots. He didn't have his cane, and she quickly crossed the pebbled forecourt to meet him beneath the portico in front of the main entrance.

"Good afternoon, Miss Swan." He reached for her hand before pulling back and settling for a bow.

"Good afternoon, Lord Masen." Isabella curtsied, her mouth dry as she wondered what he would make of her news. _His_ reputation was being called into question also, and she couldn't help recalling his anger when he had first discovered his nurse was a maiden not a married woman.

"I was just on my way to visit the Copes," she said, projecting her voice so the servants working nearby would hear.

"I see." He nodded.

"But I actually came to see you," she whispered. "I need to speak with you . . . if you have time?"

"Of course," he murmured. "Could I trouble you for a few moments of your time, Miss Swan?" he said loudly. "There are some village matters I wish to discuss."

Sighing with relief, Isabella slipped her arm through the winged elbow he proffered.

"Tea, please. In the green drawing room," Edward instructed Mr Houghton, who met them at the door. "Miss Swan has come to visit the Copes, but I have asked her to meet with me first to discuss plans for reducing poverty in the district."

The butler raised a brow, but there was no inflection in his tone when he replied with a, "Very good, my lord."

Isabella doubted he believed Edward's excuse for her visit, but she hoped he would repeat it to any curious staff members, of which there would be many. Not that it would make much difference. The news of her visiting Edward would be all over the village by nightfall.

"Thank you for your discretion and for seeing me without notice," she said, wondering how she would find the courage to tell him her woes. It was a pity he wasn't still lying in his sick bed, as she had felt quite confident around him then. Of course, therein lay the problem.

"I do hope nothing is amiss."

Isabella smiled wanly. "I think it might be wisest if we wait until our tea is served before I explain."

"Certainly." Edward ushered her to a seat in the relatively cosy parlour. "I risk overstepping the mark, but I must say you look lovely this morning. Another new gown?"

Flustered to feel heat rising in her cheeks, Isabella nodded, glad she had taken Rosalie's advice and donned her new lavender dress with its darker purple pelisse. She had been uncertain about the colour, but her sisters had insisted the ensemble was "made for her."

"Afternoon tea will be served shortly," Edward said, taking a seat opposite. "I hope you are hungry, as Mrs Cope and the new cook are sure to go overboard when they hear of your presence. I expect a _smorgasbord_ of delicacies will soon arrive, designed to impress you."

Isabella managed another smile at the thought of the two women competing with one another, though she was sure it was Edward's approval rather than hers for which they would be vying. Unsure how to begin, and wary of being overheard, she kept the conversation on safe ground until after their sumptuous afternoon tea had been served.

"There was something you wished to speak with me about?" Edward prompted when they were finally alone.

Isabella took a deep breath, which drew his attention to the décolletage her new gown revealed, rattling her composure further. Allowing Rosalie to convince her to forgo her lace fichu had been unwise.

"You have said on several occasions that if I were ever in need that I was to come to you for assistance."

Edward's gaze returned to her face. "Anything you need, anything at all. You have only to ask."

He seemed terribly sincere, and Isabella's conscience twinged. "I feel dreadful for coming to you like this, after I was forced to renege on my offer of friendship yesterday."

"Think nothing of it. Of course, concern for your sisters' futures must be your priority."

"Thank you for your understanding." Isabella paused to swallow the lump that had formed in her throat. "That is what brings me here, I'm afraid."

"Tell me." Spanning the short space between them with his arm, Edward took her hand in his. "What has happened?"

Isabella haltingly recounted the events of the morning.

"I have made a dreadful mess of things," she said, fighting back tears. "I had hoped my being publicly acknowledged as no longer of marriageable age meant people would not hold me to the standards expected of single young ladies."

"It is not your fault." His right hand formed a fist where it rested on his thigh. "That blackguard Hunter is to blame, colouring innocent events with his perverted interpretation."

Isabella eyed Edward sadly. "You and I know the truth, but I am afraid perception is more important than reality when it comes to reputation."

"I will go to him immediately and pay off your father's debt."

"Oh, thank you, my lord." Isabella's voice broke, and she took a moment to compose herself, withdrawing her hand from his to wipe at her eyes with a kerchief. "That would be greatly appreciated, as I doubt my father would survive debtors' prison. This has all come as a terrible shock to him."

"You are still worried?" Edward asked, eyeing the embroidered cloth she was wringing between her fingers.

"It won't stop Mr Hunter. Even if the loan is repaid, he said he would ruin my reputation out of spite. If it was only me I had to worry about, I would not be overly concerned. My work in the village would likely carry on even if I were shunned by society, but the girls' futures are at stake."

"Then I will threaten to destroy him if he doesn't keep quiet," Edward said, his expression grim. "It is within my power to do so."

Hope rose within Isabella but quickly faded. "I fear it's too late for that."

"Why?"

"If Mr Hunter discovered what occurred here, then others are bound to also. The Copes would never say anything to harm either of us, but there is nothing to stop young Jacob from telling the tale again, if he hasn't done so already. I am sure he didn't mean anything by it but . . ." A sob caught in Isabella's throat.

"Please, Miss Swan, don't cry. I will find a way out of this predicament."

She shook her head. "My family's reputation will be destroyed. We'll have to leave the village."

"You will do no such thing." Edward moved to the edge of his seat. "There is . . . an obvious solution."

Isabella stared at him blankly. She could not think of any and was completely unprepared for the one he offered.

"Marriage."

Her mouth dropped open, her gasp audible in the silence that followed his pronouncement. "You would _marry_ me to save my reputation?"

"Can you think of another way?"

"But how would that help? The rumours—"

"Will be much more easily countered if I make you my wife," he said, reaching for her hand again, but this time, entwining their fingers. "In light of a courtship, my paying off your father's debt and providing dowries for your sisters will appear perfectly acceptable. The scandal will soon be forgotten."

"But . . ." Isabella refused to allow the hope burgeoning in her heart to take flight. While she was overwhelmed by his generosity, such a plan of salvation was not at all fair to Edward. "But I am a mere vicar's daughter, older than you and, well, plain. Everyone will assume you had to marry me to prevent a scandal . . . which would be the truth."

Edward shrugged. "The end result will be the same, though you are selling yourself short if you ask me. Quite aside from my battered limbs and scarred visage, you seem to be forgetting I am the _cursed_ Viscount Masen, not exactly the most eligible of bachelors. It is a measure of your desperation that you haven't run screaming from the room at the mere mention of matrimony."

Isabella straightened her shoulders. "I am not afraid of the Masen Curse. My father believes it can be broken."

"Well, I don't." Edward's tone cooled noticeably. "Any wife of mine is destined to die in childbirth."

Isabella withdrew her hand from his. "You expect me to sacrifice my life for my family?"

"No!" He reached to grasp her hand again. "I should have fully explained my offer. I am talking a marriage of convenience _only_. I would never put your life at risk, Isabella, _never_!"

For the longest moment, Isabella wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry. Edward wanted to marry her. No, Edward was _willing_ to marry her to fix the mess she had made. But she would be his wife in name only, denied a true marriage or the chance of motherhood. To make matters worse, she was in love with him—something that, under the circumstances, he must never discover.

"No one could know the truth." She felt dizzy at the sheer volume of secrets she would be required to keep. "If the marriage remained unconsummated, it could be annulled. The scandal would be worse than the one we are now facing."

"Agreed." Edward nodded. "Neither of us expected to wed, so we would not be depriving the other of the opportunity for a real marriage, and we've both already stated an interest in pursuing a friendship."

"One that would no longer be denied us," Isabella said, attempting to enter into the spirit of the negotiation even though a part of her wanted to weep. "And in the matter of your recovery, we have already shown we can work well as a team—"

"Your dreadful bullying notwithstanding," Edward said, bringing a reluctant smile to her lips. She chose not to make mention of his childlike rebellion when it came to taking his medicine. Her smile faded as she considered his earlier use of her name, something she had never expected to hear.

"You are welcome to call me Isabella, if you wish," she said shyly.

"Thank you." His green eyes darkened. "I would like it if you were to call me Edward."

"Very well, _Edward._ " Saying his name aloud, with his permission, caused a warm glow in her chest.

"We will have to show a united front," he said firmly.

"I wasn't planning on arguing with you in public."

Edward smirked. "I will remind you of that. But I was actually referring to the criticism you are sure to face by agreeing to marry me."

"I can bear it." Isabella lifted her chin.

"I suppose you can," he said, his smile fading. "When the alternative is so much worse."

 **~P &P~**

 **So, still a little angsty, but now we have hope!**

 **xx Elise**


	19. Proposal

**Your response to last chapter was amazing. This next chapter is one of my favourites from all the stories I have written. I do hope you enjoy it.**

 **A few people have asked when Emmett is going to appear, but unfortunately he does not appear in this story or the sequel, Duty and Desire. Neither do Carlisle and Esme. These stories were not originally written as Twilight Fan Fiction, but as original fiction. I was only able to fit some of the characters in the conversion to Twific. I had planned to write a third book in the series, Recklessness and Regard, which is Rosalie's story, and the 'Emmett' character would have appeared then. Who knows, I may get to it when I have finished converting and posting these stories.**

 **xx Elise**

 **~P &P~**

 **Chapter 19**

 **Proposal**

To Edward's frustration, he could not manage his cane, the posy of flowers he'd had his new housekeeper, Mrs Laws, arrange, and the box of chocolates Jenks had purchased for him in Thornlie all at the same time. In an attempt to solve the problem, he tucked the bouquet under his left arm. That left him with the cane, the chocolates, and only one good hand. He considered shoving the chocolates under his right arm, but he was worried he might drop the lot and end up looking ridiculous. Well, more ridiculous than he already felt.

"Can I 'elp ye, me lord?" Brown, who was acting as the carriage footman, asked as he held open the door to the carriage. "I could carry the gifts up to the door for ye."

Edward glowered, wishing he could direct the driver to return to the manor. What sort of gentleman couldn't even go courting without assistance?

A lace curtain fell back into place behind one of the vicarage's front windows, and he sighed. It was too late to retreat now. His arrival had been noted.

"Yer Lordship?" Brown persisted.

"Very well." Edward handed him the flowers and chocolates before alighting from the carriage, cane firmly in hand. The lastthing he needed was for his leg to give way halfway down the path and for him to fall flat on his face.

Farther down the road, some children had suspended their game to stand and stare. A group of women clustered together outside a row of cottages were openly ogling. News of his visit would be all over the village before he was offered a cup of tea.

Something stronger would be preferable.

Isabella had already agreed to marry him, not that she had any choice in the matter, but he was still nervous about the imminent encounter with her father. It might have been unintentional, but Edward _had_ played a part in ruining the man's daughter, not to mention scheming to get her back under his roof.

A smile curved Edward's lips at the reminder that, if the marriage went ahead, he would have her there permanently.

"Lord Masen to see the reverend," he said when the Swans' new housekeeper opened the front door. "I believe he is expecting me."

"Of course, yer lordship. Would you like me to bring yer gifts into the drawing room?"

"That would be appreciated."

She took the flowers and chocolates from Brown and then led Edward through to a cosy sitting room where Isabella's father was waiting for him . . . alone.

"Lord Masen. Good to see you again." The vicar rose from his chair, his expression uncharacteristically sombre.

"Reverend Swan." Edward bowed his head out of respect and in hopes of garnering a little favour.

Once they were both seated, the vicar broke the silence. "My daughter has informed me of the reason for your visit. You have my sincerest gratitude for taking care of my debt to Hunter. The man has been a thorn in my side for years."

"It was my pleasure," Edward said. Confronting the large but cowardly gentleman had been most satisfying. Even semi-incapacitated, Edward was still a lethal opponent, and Hunter had foolishly underestimated him. In Edward's opinion, grabbing the man, who had threatened Isabella's good name, by his collar and slamming him against the wall of his house had not been taking things too far. Although it was probably wise that he had taken Whitlock along for the visit—not for protection, but to curb any excessive display of retribution Edward might have been tempted to mete. Hunter had folded like an empty sack of potatoes, the coward, but Edward would be keeping a close eye on him just the same.

"Isabella has also informed me you intend providing her sisters with dowries. I cannot begin to express my gratitude for such a magnanimous gesture."

Edward waved his hand dismissively. "It is the least I can do for my future sisters-in-law."

"You have my profound thanks." The vicar smiled weakly, his expression morphing into a frown. "Having said that, I own to some misgivings about you marrying my daughter."

It was understandable, but Edward was unsure how to assuage the man's fears without revealing the marriage would be in name only.

"Isabella assures me the two of you are confident you can overcome the Masen Curse," the vicar continued.

The declaration was news to Edward, but he managed to keep a neutral expression.

"I am pleased to hear you took my sermon to heart, but I will admit to being a little surprised at the speed of your conversion. Your faith is unwavering?"

Edward gulped. His faith was non-existent, but he didn't imagine admitting that to his prospective father-in-law would be beneficial to his cause.

"My, er, faith?"

"Yes. Your faith that God can lift the curse and Isabella will come through childbirth unharmed. Isabella believes your efforts to rectify the evil inflicted by your forebears have put you in good standing with the Almighty, a conclusion with which I concur. I understand you are concerned, however, that the very act of taking a wife may cancel out the good you have accomplished. You seek reassurance?"

"Reassurance . . . right." Edward tried to keep his tone agreeable while doing his best not to splutter. He appreciated that Isabella had been forced to justify to her father their decision to marry, but a little warning regarding his supposed spiritual awakening would have been appreciated.

"What is your opinion on the matter?" Edward asked, both in hopes of distracting the man and out of genuine curiosity. "Do you believe Isabella will be safe from the curse if we marry?"

"The study of theology is not an exact science," the vicar said, his tone bordering on wry. "But yes, I believe it is possible for the curse upon your family to be broken."

Possible.

There was a hesitancy in Isabella's father's tone Edward had not detected during his sermon, which was hardly surprising. The life of the man's eldest daughter was now at stake.

"What would need to occur to make it a certainty?" Edward asked, and his heart beat drum-like in his chest. Without meaning to, he was opening himself up to the rather frightening potential for hope _._

The vicar smiled. "If guarantees could be given, faith would not be required. Short of the finger of God appearing to write assurances on the wall, all I can offer you is my belief that you will be rewarded if you continue on the path of righteousness."

"Righteousness?" Edward struggled to hide his cynicism. "While I appreciate your willingness to view my deeds in such a positive light, I feel I should point out I have not attended church since leaving Forkton when I was a boy. Well, other than when I was forced to attend chapel whilst I was at Eton."

"Understandably so," the vicar said. "I well recall my predecessor's sermons. I am afraid he took his displeasure with your father's actions out on you. Returning to a place that must surely have caused you great distress does you credit."

Edward shifted in his seat, unwilling to admit both times he had attended church since returning to Forkton had been due to the lure of the vicar's daughter.

"Then there is the matter of your exemplary comportment in the ensuing years despite your harsh beginnings."

"I have just tried to do the right thing." Edward shrugged, embarrassed by the unexpected praise.

"Isabella told me of your efforts to rectify the wrongs committed by your forebears," the vicar said, undeterred. "Combined with your determination to see slavery abolished, it shows a propensity for both justice and mercy. According to the book of Micah, the third virtue required to meet the Lord's requirements for righteousness is humility, which is evident in your demeanour. Other than that, all you need is faith."

Faith, Edward mused, fighting a battle between his conscience and his desires. The opportunity to spend his future in a platonic relationship with a woman as admirable as Isabella Swan was a dream he had not dared envision. But to hope for more? As much as he would like to believe the curse could be broken, he was not about to stake her life upon it.

Seeing Isabella walking up the hill towards the manor the day before had stolen his breath. He was unsure if it was due to some subtle change she had made in her appearance or his own infatuated state, but she grew in loveliness every time he saw her. If the risk was to him, he would gladly exchange a long life for a few years or even months of a true marriage with the woman who now owned his heart. But the risk was to Isabella, and he couldn't bear the thought of her coming to harm.

"Neither could I." Her father nodded, and Edward realised he had spoken his last thought aloud. "My prayers for _all_ my daughters have been that their futures would be both happy and secure, an eventuality that was looking less and less likely. It would seem the Almighty has chosen you as the answer to those prayers, my lord."

Edward hid his smile behind his hand. He had never been called the answer to a maiden's prayers before, or a vicar's for that matter.

"Please, call me Edward," he said. "You knew me as a boy—"

"And look forward to counting you as a son."

Edward's eyes widened. He had barely come to terms with the possibility of having a wife, in any form. That he would also become part of an extended family was not something he had properly considered.

The vicar's expression grew serious. "Before I give my blessing for the marriage, I have one more question. I realise your offer is a result of wanting to prevent a scandal, but I need to know. Do you _care_ for Isabella?"

Edward swallowed hard. "Yes, I do. I hold her in considerable esteem and not just because she helped save my life. Not having previously contemplated matrimony, I had hoped for a friendship with your daughter."

There was much more he could have said to sing Isabella's praises, but he decided to leave it at that. Acknowledging the degree of his affection seemed unwise, as her father might recount his words. He did not want her to feel pressured to return a sentiment she did not feel. Nor did he care to make himself more vulnerable than absolutely necessary.

"Very good. You can count on my continued prayers for the both of you, as I must say, I am rather looking forward to becoming a grandfather."

On that challenging note, the vicar left Edward standing in the parlour to await Isabella's arrival. Aside from all else, Edward was eager for their reunion and impatient for the day when the two of them would once more share a residence. A few moments later, she entered the sitting room wearing the peach gown she had worn the previous Sunday, her womanly figure shown off to great advantage.

"Isabella. How do you do?" Stepping forward, he offered her the bouquet he had retrieved from the sideboard.

"Edward, how lovely." The sight of her bringing the roses to her face and inhaling their perfume was worth all the bother the blooms had caused him. "I'll just have Mrs Turner place these in a vase."

When she returned, Edward took her hand in his. Bowing low, he closed the distance between her fingers and his lips and placed a kiss on her knuckles. It was a forward gesture, but considering the limitations he had placed on their relationship, he deemed it allowable. Her gasp of surprise justified the action, or so he hoped. Realising he might have offended her, his gaze shot to her face, but Isabella's shy smile reassured him. With their hands linked, he directed her to sit beside him on the only available seat that would comfortably fit two.

"How did it go with my father?"

"Surprisingly well considering how ill-prepared I was to discuss my _faith_." He eyed her pointedly.

"Oh, that." She had the decency to look uncomfortable. "I had to convince him we believed the curse could be broken."

"Otherwise your father would think I am a monster for marrying you. I understand—"

"But a little warning would have been appreciated?" she asked.

They shared a rueful smile.

"What happens now?"

"Now I get down on one knee." He sighed. "Or I would, but between my right leg and my left arm, I am not sure I would be able to get back up again."

"There is no need," she quickly assured him. "As you have said, ours is to be a marriage of convenience. I do not expect a formal proposal."

Edward's expression sobered. "Well, I do."

Taking her hands in his, as best his left hand would allow, he turned in the seat to face her. "Miss Isabella Swan. Would you do me the exceeding great honour of agreeing to become my wife?"

"I would," Isabella replied without hesitation. His shoulders sagged with relief, but before he could say any more, she added, "Thank you, Edward, for everything."

For a long moment, neither of them spoke, their gazes locked.

With a reluctant sigh, Edward glanced towards the closed door to the sitting room. "I suppose we should tell your family, or have you informed your sisters already?"

"Rosalie suspects, but I haven't said anything to Tanya yet. She was terribly upset after Mr Hunter's visit, and I didn't want to give her false hope in case you changed your mind."

"There was no possibility of that happening."

"You are certain about all of this?"

He eyed her warily. "Why do you ask?"

"Because I'm not viscountess material."

Isabella's answer was not what he was expecting. He opened his mouth to protest, but she rushed to continue.

"We both know if circumstances had been different, you would have chosen someone younger, prettier, and from a far more elevated family than mine."

"I am very satisfied with my choice."

If they were going to venture down the path of "could haves and would haves" Edward feared, he would come off the loser. How many intelligent, capable, and decidedly lovely young ladies, of whom he counted Isabella a prime example, would willingly choose a battle-scarred warrior with only two fully working limbs out of four, let alone a _cursed_ one?

"If you are absolutely sure," she said. "I will do my best to live up to expectations."

 _Expectations be damned_ , Edward thought but kept the view to himself. "You will do admirably, Isabella," he said. Now that he had permission to use her name, he found he was inclined to say it often. "You have already proven yourself a worthy helpmeet. Not that I expect you to be burdened by estate matters once you are my wife, of course. But I do look forward to the company of a sensible conversationalist."

Isabella's smile was hesitant, and Edward wished he could compliment her on its appeal. But he had promised their union would be purely platonic and did not want to alarm her with evidence of his very physical attraction.

"Shall we invite your family in?"

"There is one more thing," she said, colour rising to her cheeks. "I understand if you would rather not . . . and I do realise this is a rather impertinent request considering the circumstances surrounding our betrothal . . . and I certainly have no desire to offend you . . . nor do I wish for you to think of me as excessively forward, but—"

"Isabella." He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "Just say what you need to say."

Still she hesitated, and he suspected he knew what was bothering her.

"If it is about the girls' dowries or your own position, you need not worry. I have decided on ten thousand pounds each for your sisters, which will give them a yearly income of five hundred pounds. For you, I will arrange a marriage settlement of one hundred thousand pounds." Ignoring her splutter, he continued. "If anything happens to me, without an heir, the Masen estate will return to the Crown. You will inherit my personal wealth, but I don't want you to have to wait for my death to be financially independent."

Isabella might blame herself for their predicament, but Edward believed she was being forced to pay an excessive price for saving his life.

"Is that not what you were wondering about?" he asked when she continued to stare at him, her mouth agape.

"One hundred thousand pounds!" she said, her eyes like saucers. "I was only going to ask for a kiss . . . because I'm to be married, and I have never been kissed. I just wanted to know what it felt like, but I see it was terribly wrong of me to ask for another thing in the face of your extraordinary generosity."

It was Edward's turn to be rendered speechless. His ability to respond only returned when Isabella dropped her gaze and attempted to pull her hands from his.

"I will gladly kiss you," he blurted before scrambling to find a more suitable response. " _Because_ it is generally allowed that a gentleman may share a kiss with his betrothed on their betrothal."

Isabella's shoulders sagged in what he hoped was relief. "I was worried you were offended by my request."

"Not at all," Edward said, deciding to act quickly in case she changed her mind. Closing the distance between them, he brought their mouths into alignment and pressed his lips to hers. It was Isabella's first kiss, and he wanted to do it justice. But it was his first kiss also, and he was not overly sure what he was doing.

Her eyes remained open, and she kept perfectly still. Finding the angle a little awkward, and not quite knowing what to do about their noses, Edward tilted his head. That seemed to work better in terms of fit. He suspected movement was required, so he brushed his lips slowly over hers. They were warm, soft, wonderfully pliable, and he was forced to stifle a moan at the exquisite sensation touching them aroused. He certainly didn't want to frighten or insult her, but neither was he ready to stop. He just hoped the kiss was living up to whatever expectations Isabella might have held.

A little encouragement would have been appreciated.

To his relief, her lips parted slightly, and he risked deepening the kiss. Her eyes fluttered closed, and he was optimistic it indicated enjoyment on her part. He was certainly enjoying his part in the proceedings. When she tentatively moved her mouth in response to his, Edward's confidence grew.

Not wanting to miss a single moment of this unprecedented event, he tried to keep his eyes open, but he felt them closing of their own accord. To his surprise, the absence of sight heightened the sensation tenfold. Emboldened, he took the greater risk of releasing her hands and bringing his arms around her back to gently embrace her. Isabella's body tensed beneath the featherlight pressure of his touch, and he wondered if he should withdraw. But then she relaxed into his arms, and he drew her closer.

Slowly, hesitantly, she ran her fingers up his chest and across his shoulders before circling her arms around his neck and tangling her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck. Her touch was exquisite. Ill-prepared for the onslaught of desire that overtook him when their bodies came into contact, Edward released the moan he had been stifling. Thankfully, Isabella responded in kind, her soft whimper music to his ears. Their lips brushed against one another's repeatedly, tasting, caressing, and most definitely arousing. Realising how close he was to losing complete control, Edward's good sense eventually reasserted itself. After one, last, savouring of her precious lips, he reluctantly broke their connection. Opening his eyes, he was met with Isabella's doe-like expression. Her lips were still parted, and unable to resist, he leaned in to taste her mouth once more.

"Oh, my," she whispered, when he sat back.

 _Oh, my, indeed,_ Edward silently agreed.

 **~P &P~**

 **I do love these two. And I love how much you guys love this story, which is a lot of love all around. I'm going to float off now on a cloud of endorphins. :)**

 **xx Elise**


	20. Transition

**Last chapter certainly made everyone happy. I am so glad. :)**

 **I can't believe I called this chapter Transition, though it is a very apt title and filled with all sorts of goodies. Time jumps aren't my strength, but I think you will appreciate how much this chapter covers.**

 **xx Elise**

 **~P &P~**

 **Chapter 20**

 **Transition**

Isabella stared at Edward in shock, mortification quickly replacing her sense of wonder.

What must he think of her?

She had practically plastered herself against his body. If the kiss had gone on any longer, Isabella feared she would have climbed onto his lap. To make matters worse, _she_ had not been the one to end it, _he_ had.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered at the exact same time he uttered, "Please, forgive me."

"Why are _you_ apologising?" they said in unison.

Edward's arms were still around her waist and Isabella's hands were upon his shoulders, but at a knock at the door they sprang apart.

"It has gone awfully quiet in there. May we come in?" Isabella's father asked as he popped his head around the door.

"Of course." Isabella shot to her feet. "Edward and I were just, er . . . finalising the details of our agreement. We have an announcement to make."

"Whatever could it be?" Rosalie pursed her lips, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

Isabella glared at her sister before glancing at Edward. His expression was unreadable, his hair dishevelled as a result of her fingers running through it.

"Your sister has agreed to become my wife," he said with confidence.

Isabella almost collapsed with relief. After her outrageous display, she wouldn't have been surprised if he had reneged on his offer.

Isabella had never felt desire before, well, certainly not to that degree. In hindsight, she realised the feeling had been awakening within her from the moment she had begun caring for Edward. While her innocence was unfeigned, that did not mean she was ignorant of what occurred between a husband and wife. She had been warned physical intimacy was a significant part of a marital relationship, she just had not expected her first experience of it to be so overwhelming.

Unfortunately, she had no time to consider her response to Edward's kiss, as his announcement had taken effect. Her father appeared cautiously pleased, and Rosalie wary, but Tanya's reaction was a different matter altogether.

"Isabella, you cannot. You _must_ not!" She turned to address Edward directly."Papa told me you have paid off his debt to Mr Hunter, for which I will be eternally grateful, but you cannot marry my sister. She will die!"

"Tanya!" Rosalie and her father both exclaimed.

"I won't die. I will be fine, I promise." Isabella shot Edward an apologetic glance.

"Didn't you listen to my sermon on Sunday?" the vicar asked. "Lord Masen is well on the way to breaking the Masen Curse, if he hasn't done so already. There is nothing to fear."

"But what if you are wrong?" Tanya asked, gesturing wildly. "You said God would heal Mama, and he didn't. I can't lose Isabella, too." With a sob, she ran from the room, and the next thing they heard was the sound of her footsteps pounding up the stairs.

"Well, that went well," Rosalie said, breaking the stunned silence. "I had better go see to her."

Mortified by Tanya's display, Isabella could barely face Edward. "I am so sorry," she said.

"Your sister's concern is perfectly understandable." A muscle in Edward's jaw flickered, and Isabella's heart fell. A faint hope had resided within her that their marriage could be genuine, and she might one day, if she was particularly fortunate, experience motherhood. But it was obvious any chance of convincing him to take the risk was unlikely.

"I had best go after them." She glanced towards the door.

"Of course." Edward nodded. "I will have the banns posted and an announcement put in the papers in the next few days, but we will need to decide on a date." Addressing Isabella's father, he continued. "Sir, would you and your daughter be available to come for dinner later this week? Her younger sisters also, if they are so inclined."

Leaving Edward and her father to make arrangements, Isabella excused herself. To her relief Tanya had calmed a little, though her red and puffy eyes told the tale of her distress.

"I should have let you know of Edward's intentions before he arrived," Isabella said, coming to sit beside her on the bed.

Throwing her arms around her eldest sister, Tanya began to sob anew. "I can't bear the thought of you putting yourself at risk. At least tell me the two of you have formed an attachment."

Isabella opened her mouth to berate Tanya's impudence then snapped it shut. She had spent so many years trying to fill in for their mother that sometimes she forgot to just be the girls' sister.

"It is a fair question," Rosalie said. "We would feel much better knowing there are tender feelings between the two of you despite the fact he is marrying you to prevent a scandal."

Isabella gulped. She had considered revealing to her sisters that her marriage to Edward was to be one of convenience. But she feared Tanya was yet to outgrow the need to inform her friends of every aspect of her existence.

"Well? Are there?" Tanya asked.

"Yes," Isabella admitted on a sigh. "I care for Edward a great deal."

"Does he feel the same way about you?"

Isabella shook her head. "All he wanted was a friend, and now he is to be saddled with me as a wife. It is not as bad as it sounds," she added at her sisters' looks of alarm. "He never planned on marrying, as he assumed the curse could not be broken, but he said he will appreciate the company. My biggest concern is living up to the role of his viscountess. I wasn't raised with such a position in mind."

"You'll do fine." Rosalie said. "Besides, I don't think Lord Masen is a typical viscount. I can't see him rushing up to London to take his place in the House of Lords."

Isabella's breath hitched. "Actually, he might." She swallowed, not having considered the possibility. "He is a staunch supporter of Wilberforce and the abolishment of slavery. His military career kept him from taking an active political role, but I wouldn't be surprised if he decides to play his part in trying to change the laws once he has things in order closer to home."

Tanya perked up. "Goodness! You would have to be presented at court. We could have a proper season in London with gowns and balls and everything. You will take us with you when you go?"

"Of course," Isabella murmured, quelling a sudden bout of nausea with a hand to her stomach.

 **~P &P~**

Leaving the house early the next morning, Isabella was determined to speak with Alice before her friend heard of Edward's visit through the grapevine. Several times on her way, she was intercepted by villagers asking after her well-being in a pointed fashion. Mrs Jones, the butcher's wife, even went so far as to question her about the viscount's visit. Speaking the truth, she told the renowned busybody that Edward had come to speak with her father. Thankfully, the woman jumped to the conclusion the topic was the minister's most recent sermon.

"So, the viscount's going to try and break the curse, then." Mrs Jones looked thoughtful. " 'is father didn't 'ave much luck gettin' rid of it. Mind ye, 'e consulted with some mighty strange folk. I'm sure the vicar will be able to 'elp. 'e seems to know wot 'e's talkin' about."

"I will let my father know you have confidence in him," Isabella said before hurrying on her way.

Sally Martin, the farrier's wife, intercepted Isabella for the purpose of singing Edward's praises—a welcome respite from the usual fear and negativity. With her little one bundled in her arms, and her young friend, Maggie Thomas, at her side, she caught up to Isabella not far from Alice's cottage.

"The viscount might be awfully fierce in appearance with that dreadful scar on 'is face, but 'e's a very generous sort."

"I think 'e's right 'andsome even with the scar. All dark and brooding, with those big, broad shoulders." Maggie winked.

"Maggie. Don't say such things. Yer embarrassin' Miss Swan."

"That's quite all right," Isabella murmured with a wan smile. She could hardly fault the girl's assessment. Edward did have exceedingly broad shoulders, and there was something to be said for his forest-green eyes though, personally, she was most taken by his smile.

After explaining she was in a hurry, Isabella took leave of the two young women. Walking briskly but with her head down, she was determined to reach Alice's cottage without further delay. Directed by Alice's elderly aunt, Edith, she found her friend decocting tinctures in the shed at the back of the yard, behind the extensive herb garden.

"You are out and about early," Alice said when she spotted Isabella in the doorway. "What's happened? Is someone ill at the vicarage?"

"No, everyone is well. I just didn't want you hearing this from anyone else, so I have come to give you my news in person." Isabella raised her chin defensively. "I have agreed to marry Edward."

Expecting a blistering lecture, she was shocked to see tears pool in her friend's eyes.

"Oh, Isabella," Alice whispered. "I feared it would come to this."

"It is going to be all right," Isabella assured her. "Papa is sure the curse can be broken."

"What about you? Are you sure?"

"Of course." Isabella only briefly averted her gaze, but it was enough to give away her insecurity. "There are no guarantees in life, Alice, but you said yourself Edward's survival is a miracle."

"And now we must wait and see if the two of you shall be granted another." Alice's shoulders slumped. " _Please_ tell me you genuinely care for him?"

Isabella stepped closer. "You know I do. Edward and I already have the beginnings of a friendship, and we work well together. That's more than can be said of many couples." Isabella kept her tone light, not wanting Alice to discern how deeply she desired Edward to return her affection. Before meeting him, she had not hoped for more than marriage to a man she could respect who tolerated her in return. To pine for something as ephemeral as love, both then and now, was the height of foolishness.

"I would offer my congratulations, but this curse has me worried. I have a bad feeling about it, and I am afraid of losing you," Alice said in a quavering voice.

"You won't lose me." Isabella decided to tell her friend the truth. Alice could be trusted not to gossip, and she needed someone she could confide in. "Edward has decided it is to be a marriage of convenience only." She went on to explain the events that had precipitated the agreement.

Alice's countenance lightened, and she breathed a sigh. "He's definitely not a monster, like his father and grandfather, then. I am sorry for the accusations I made. Will you be satisfied with the arrangement? I know how much you've always wanted children of your own."

Isabella hesitated before answering, the idea still in its infancy and her chances of success exceedingly small.

"I hope to talk him around one day." She rushed ahead with her explanation before her friend could object. "If I am successful, I will need your help. Quite aside from the obvious risks, I am not as young as most brides. I will be at least twenty-eight if and when the time comes, a little old to be having one's first child. You would assist me, wouldn't you?"

"Isabella, please, no." Alice's voice broke on a sob. "It is too dangerous. Do you know how many women die in childbirth _without_ having a many-generations-strong curse working against them?"

"Papa believes the curse can be broken."

"It is your father's _job_ to believe, but faith is too nebulous a prospect in which to put your trust. You wouldn't know if your endeavours were successful until it was too late to do anything about it. I am sorry, but I can't support you in this, Isabella. If you choose to go down this foolhardy path, I don't think I can walk it with you." Tears coursed down Alice's cheeks, but her expression appeared set.

"I see." Isabella stepped back, tears stinging her own eyes. "Then there is not much more to be said."

She had intended to ask her friend to stand as witness at her wedding, but under the circumstances, she decided it would be best if Rosalie took that role.

 **~P &P~**

The following evening, the entire Swan family dined at Masen Manor. Buoyed by the discovery of the size of her new dowry, Tanya vowed to keep her concerns regarding Isabella's safety to herself.

After a brief discussion, the date for the wedding was set for six weeks hence. A betrothal of less than one month required a special licence, which in turn required powerful connections and a hefty payment to the local bishop. It was considered a sign of both wealth and position to arrange for one's nuptials to be rushed, but Edward assured them he felt no compunction to display either.

"It is not necessary to our cause."

"In fact, _not_ rushing may be wise," Isabella said, mortified to have to allude to the rumours doing the rounds that she was already with child.

"Excellent." Her father smoothed over the awkward silence that followed her comment. "That will give Edward and me plenty of time to dissect all angles of this dreaded curse and make sure we have the thing well and truly defeated."

"How exactly do you propose we do that?" Edward eyed her father warily.

"Exegetical study of the scriptures, deep discussion, and much prayer," the vicar said with alacrity. "And fasting, of course. Intensive fasting."

"Fasting. How wonderful." The look Edward sent Isabella's way was at odds with his tone.

"My apologies," she whispered while her father and sisters were donning their coats at the end of the evening. "I will tell Papa it is too soon after your recovery for you to be missing meals. He will understand."

"If your father deems it essential, I am sure I will survive, but my new cook won't be happy." Edward shrugged. "Ah well. Your father is a congenial fellow. Hopefully my sentence won't be too onerous."

Isabella shared his smile, but it quickly faded and both of them averted their gazes. It had been that way all evening with a constraint existing between them that hadn't been there before. Isabella knew why. Edward was appalled by her response to his kiss. She should offer another apology but decided to leave it to him to raise the matter. She was saddened enough by the knowledge it would most likely be her one and only experience with intimacy.

Two days later, the notice of their betrothal appeared in the papers, and the visitors began to call.

"I'm just so worried for ye." Mrs Darrow struggled to contain her tears. "Don't mistake me, Miss Isabella. I think the viscount is a wise man to recognise yer worth, but this curse is a worry. Maybe the birthin' will go all right, 'cos ye're a woman, with proper child-bearing hips, and not a wee child being wed before 'er time like the toffs are wont to do, beggin' me pardon for sayin' so. I just 'ope yer father 'as the right of it."

Isabella thought Mrs Darrow's point was valid, and she did her best to reassure her friends from the village, preferring their genuine concern to the reactions she received from the local society members. Mrs Stanley went on the attack the minute Isabella showed her into the sitting room. "How could you? I made it exceedingly plain I wanted the viscount for my Jessica or Lauren, either girl a much more suitable match for a viscount than a . . . a _vicar's_ daughter. I bet you didn't even inform him that two far lovelier and exceedingly more accomplished girls were available for matrimony."

The task she had supposedly been assigned was news to Isabella, but she harboured no regrets. She couldn't imagine Edward tolerating either girl's presence for long. They would bore him to tears.

"The last I heard, you were concerned by the mere possibility Lord Masen had intentions of seeking a wife." Isabella came as close to rebuking her superior, Mrs Stanley's husband being the younger son of a baron, as she dared.

"Not at all. I specifically mentioned how prestigious it would be to have a grandson who was heir to a viscountcy. Besides, my misgivings were resolved when I discovered your father had devised a way to break the curse," Mrs Stanley said, her brows furrowed into a furious scowl. "How dare the two of you withhold such vital information? You probably tricked the viscount into believing marriage to you was his only option."

Shocked by the viciousness of her guest's accusation, Isabella paled.

"That is quite enough, Mrs Stanley," her father said from the doorway. "Neither I nor my daughter have done anything requiring apology. What we _have_ done is to offer Lord Masen our unconditional support from the moment of his arrival."

The vicar's pointed words slid off the matronly woman like water from a duck's back, and she left in a flurry of self-righteous indignation.

Lady Brandon, Alice's erstwhile stepmother, and Lady Westcott were a little more circumspect in expressing their opinions.

"Miss Swan, Isabella _dearest,_ you are taking a horrendous risk. Are you sure you have considered the ramifications?" Lady Westcott's tone was sympathetic, but Isabella maintained her guard.

"You will be a viscountess, for a short time, anyway," Lady Brandon said. "The expectations and pressure upon you will be enormous, especially since you have not been raised for the role. It takes a great deal of training, not to mention generations of breeding, to prepare a young lady for such an august position in society. Either of _our_ daughters, my Cynthia in particular, would have been perfect for the position. If it wasn't for the danger inherent in accepting the viscount's proposal, of course. If matters run true to form, after an exhausting confinement, harrowing labour, and the sacrificial provision of an heir, there is every expectation that you will die an agonising death _._ "

The dowager's black-gloved hands fluttered in the air, reminding Isabella of a pair of crows.

"Lord Masen and I believe the risk to my life is minimal." It would be if he had his way. "But as to my fulfilling the role of viscountess, I am open to any advice you may have to offer."

In the ensuing weeks, Isabella came to regret her choice of mentors, though she could not deny the ladies were knowledgeable when it came to the ways of the _ton._ During sessions that seemed to last forever, Isabella was tutored in how to comport herself when presented at court, which invitations should be accepted and which declined, the _correct_ way to conduct a ball, to which dressmakers she should give her patronage, and what charities she should support . . . the anti-slavery league noticeably absent. Isabella was left wondering how she could possibly avoid the seemingly numerous faux pas they warned her about, any one of which would be considered disastrous to her social standing.

"One must maintain an air of civility and composure at all times." Lady Brandon demonstrated by lifting her already prominent nose high in the air.

"And one must never, under _any_ circumstances, be seen to display affection towards one's spouse in public." Lady Westcott eyed her reprovingly, although Isabella hardly thought the friendly smiles and innocent touches she and Edward shared on occasion warranted the rebuke. Isabella could only imagine how the ladies would respond if they knew of the passionate kiss Edward and she had engaged in on the afternoon of his proposal. On the rare instances they had been allowed a few minutes alone, he had not attempted a repeat, even though she would have been very happy to oblige him. His actions confirmed her suspicion he had not enjoyed the experience as much as she had.

Socialising with the local debutantes, as she was now welcome to do, was even worse than receiving instruction from their mothers. If the young ladies, who were closer in age to Tanya and Rosalie, had possessed a fraction of her sisters' intelligence, Isabella would not have minded. But while they could run rings around her when it came to knowing which type of lace, brand of tea, or mode of dance was currently fashionable, they had no interest in the issues that engaged her.

Isabella missed Alice's company, but they were still at odds. Even her village friends treated her differently, showing a degree of deference she neither wanted nor expected. While some matters were still brought to her attention, to her frustration, others were kept from her.

"Ye mustn't bother Miss Swan," she heard whispered on more than one occasion. "She's to be a viscountess soon and shan't have time for such petty issues as she dealt with when she was just the vicar's daughter."

In addition to their reticence to come to her with their problems was a pervading sense of gloom over her predicted demise. There were times Isabella felt like she was attending her own wake—a long and protracted one. To make matters worse, she had a lot of time on her hands now the vicarage was supplied with a full retinue of staff, courtesy of Edward's generosity. If it wasn't for the wedding preparations, she wasn't sure what she would have done with herself. Endless hours spent hunched over an embroidery hoop or dabbling in watercolours had never appealed to Isabella, her mother's example having inspired her to pursue a different path. As a vicar's wife, Isabella's mother had found herself in an unusual position. She had been able to maintain her social standing while having ample opportunity to put her talents to good use—in particular, her ability to offer wise, caring counsel, and to both see a need and find a way for it to be met. The goal of a gentrified young lady was to look pretty while accomplishing nothing of great significance, or so it seemed to Isabella. Like her mother before her, she much preferred being needed and useful.

Isabella began to fear the worst part about becoming a viscountess would be the boredom, until Edward alerted her to the extraordinary opportunities that would be at her disposal as his wife. His revelation came at the time of their first major disagreement when she raised the matter of the size of her sisters' dowries and her marriage settlement.

"The amounts are exorbitant," she argued. "What on earth am I going to do with an income of five thousand pounds a year, when you insist you will be paying all the bills, including those of my dressmaker?"

"Whatever you like," he said with a shrug. "Buy property, start a new charity. It is entirely up to you."

Isabella was rendered silent, not having considered such possibilities, but she soon regained her voice.

"All I ever wanted for my sisters was for them to marry men of their choosing. But with ten thousand pounds each, I fear we will have fortune hunters lining up at the vicarage gate."

Edward's sober expression assured her he understood her concerns, as foolish girls enticed into an elopement lost all rights to whatever funds they brought to the union. It was necessary for the marriage settlement, a legally binding document that required ratification, to be negotiated between a father and prospective groom _before_ the wedding to ensure the bride was protected. She could not access the capital unless widowed, of course, but the yearly income was hers to spend as she saw fit . . . unless she was tricked with flattery and false promises.

"Since Rosalie and Tanya are to be my sisters-in-law, it is expected they should have a reasonable income," Edward said. "I will gladly give them more should they ever need it. As to their being targeted by unscrupulous fellows, I promise to guard your sisters against harm as fervently as I plan on keeping _you_ safe."

Isabella's thanks for his generosity was subdued. While she appreciated Edward's determination to protect Rosalie and Tanya, the intensity of his avowal confirmed the unlikelihood of Isabella's being able to circumvent his plans to keep their union chaste.

"As for the size of your marriage settlement," he continued when she remained silent, "I want to ensure your financial security in case anything should happen to me."

Isabella's breath hitched. She had just found Edward, and the thought of losing him was unbearable. "You have had enough brushes with death to last a lifetime," she said, placing her hands on his chest. "If I have anything to say about it, you shall die a very old man in your bed and not a moment sooner."

It was the closest they had been since their kiss, but rather than pull away, Edward covered the hand that rested over his heart. His green eyes appeared lit with a warmth from within.

"I never intended to grow old. But with you by my side, the notion is actually appealing."

Most young ladies craved flowery words from their beaux, but Isabella couldn't imagine a better compliment and cherished it during the final days of their betrothal.

 **~P &P~**

After a week of intermittent rain, the wedding day of the sixth Viscount Masen and the eldest daughter of the vicar of Forkton dawned to only partly overcast skies. It had been expected they would conduct a ball in the lead-up to the wedding, but the ballroom at Masen Manor was yet to be renovated, and the groom was unable to dance. Isabella had not minded, privately relieved when Edward chose to ignore the reproving comments of their peers.

"They can attend the service if they must," Edward had said, clearly reluctant to give ground to people who had shunned him as a boy and were toadying to him now he was a man. "But if they think I will be hosting an extended house party after the wedding, or pandering to their opinions, they can think again."

Isabella had been comforted by his comments, hopeful they denoted a less restrictive future for her than the one described by her mentors. The older women had even attempted to instruct her on her duty and comportment when it came to the marital bed. They had informed her that gentlemen were expected to enjoy their conjugal rights while ladies were to actively deny any such feelings, enduring with stoicism the uncomfortable and humiliating affair. Since Adam and Eve had managed without the dowagers of Masen to instruct them in acceptable procreative behaviour, Isabella had decided she was better off without their advice. Of course, the issue was moot unless she could convince her husband to actually _claim_ his conjugal rights.

"You look beautiful." Rosalie said, looking over Isabella's shoulder in the full-length mirror that now adorned her bedroom. The purchase was an extravagance, but so was her new wardrobe of gowns.

" _All_ brides look beautiful on their wedding day," Isabella said, unable to completely deny Rosalie's assessment. Her brown hair shone, appearing anything but dull. Her new lady's maid, Angela, had fashioned it into an intricate design of braids and soft curls, interwoven with tiny flowers and seed pearls. Her wedding gown, made from ivory and gold silks and laces, flowed around her in gossamer waves. Her diamond encrusted tiara, necklace, and bracelet, gifts from Edward that had left Isabella gaping like a fish, added the perfect finishing touches.

Thank heavens she had not been born a generation earlier, when gowns were made from layers of stiff, heavy fabrics, the dress often outweighing the wearer. Tight corsetry had been required, preventing one from bending or moving with ease, and one even had to be sewn into the gown. The revolution in France had put an end to such fashions when the English nobility, fearing their own lives could soon be at stake, began scorning dress that set them so far apart from the common people, making them obvious targets. Simpler fashions ensued, copying the empire lines and flowing fabrics of the Grecian designs. The gowns could be a bit draughty, requiring skin-coloured body stockings to be worn beneath in the cooler months or climes of Britain. But the freedom of movement and expression they allowed made the newer fashions a great success, quite apart from revolutionary fears.

A bride in the late seventeen hundreds would have also been required to wear a wig fully twelve to eighteen inches high, her face powdered to a ghostly white with brightly rouged cheeks and lips. Isabella shuddered at the thought. In contrast, she had permitted Angela to add a hint of colour to her face, just enough to enhance rather than disguise her appearance.

While Isabella would never count herself a great beauty, she was pleased by the reflection in the bevelled mirror. Her skin glowed with health, and her eyes sparkled. If she could just remember to smile, she would look almost pretty _._ At least, that is what she hoped Edward would think when he saw her.

 **~P &P~**

 **I couldn't remember how many chapters it took, so I am very glad we don't have a long wait until the wedding. Yay! What did you think of the advice given to young ladies of this era? That sort of thinking lasted for a hellishly long time. Shudder!**

 **I am curious. Does anyone have any ideas regarding my inspiration for writing about a curse? I thought it was fairly obvious, but no one has mentioned it yet.**

 **xx Elise**

 **It's time I started reccing some of the wonderful WIPS I'm reading at the moment. Please leave these incredibly talented authors some love.**

 **knicnort3 - The Long Road Home (This one is heartrendingly beautiful. If you haven't read her Twilight on the Blue Lagoon, you have a treat in store.)**

 **Wonwordful - The Masked Prince (High Fantasy, wonderfully written and full of intrigue)**


	21. Ceremony

**Hello Lovely People! It seems you are enjoying reading this story as much as I am enjoying hearing from you all. :)**

 **A few of you worked out that my main inspiration for this story was my twenty five year love affair with Disney's Beauty and the Beast! Obviously, it is not a re-telling, just loosely inspired by the fairytale. As this isn't a fantasy story, I was stumped for a while as to how to write about a curse in the real world. Then a well-meaning relative gave me a book to read on 'breaking curses' after he told me that he thought my and my family's history of neurological problems was due to a generational curse. It was an interesting read, and one I felt would have fit quite well with Regency beliefs and sensibilities!**

 **I hope you enjoy this chapter. I certainly did reading it again after all these years. :)**

 **xx Elise**

 **~P &P~**

 **Chapter 21**

 **Ceremony**

Standing in front of the congregation on his wedding day reminded Edward of the moments just before a battle. His breath came quickly, and his heart pounded in his ears, but his mind was remarkably clear. In both situations, he was acutely aware that decisions he made could mean life or death to those for whom he was responsible.

"You have the look of a man about to face a firing squad," Whitlock, his best man, murmured. "Second thoughts?"

"About Isabella? No."

"You do seem well suited." His friend of many years nodded. "She's mature, capable, intelligent—"

"Compassionate, beautiful," Edward interjected without thinking.

"Ahh . . ." Whitlock raised a brow. "Not merely a match of expediency, I see."

"Not on my part." Edward kept his eyes trained on the sunlit door to the church.

"Is she aware of your feelings?" His friend kept his voice low. "I know it is not fashionable to proclaim affection for one's spouse, but she seems a sensible sort. I doubt she would take offence."

Edward shrugged. It was a risk he wasn't willing to take.

He should not have kissed her, certainly not in such a passionate manner. A chaste brushing of the lips would have satisfied her curiosity, but he had allowed himself to be carried away by the desire her touch aroused. His only consolation came in the knowledge she had been similarly affected.

Edward's initial reaction had been to assume a profound apology was required for his lapse in gentlemanly behaviour. But in reliving the event, something he had done numerous times since that fateful afternoon, he had come to a rather momentous conclusion.

Isabella had enjoyed their kiss.

Her reason for requesting it had been perfectly understandable, and he had been more than happy to oblige her. But Isabella had been the first to let her lids flutter closed. She had even whimpered, although his groan of pleasure had almost overwhelmed the sound. Of one thing he was certain— _he_ had been the one to end the kiss, not her.

The evidence led him to believe she might not be averse to a repeat encounter. Whether that meant she cared for him personally or had merely been affected by her first experience of intimacy, he could not say. Regardless of her motivation, the knowledge she might welcome his advances was both a comfort and a torment.

At a movement at the entry of the church, the two recently retired officers stood to attention. Rosalie was first to appear in the sunlit doorway, looking lovely in a light green gown with a bouquet of cream roses in her hands. She walked at a steady pace to the front of the church, and Edward spared her a brief smile. Then his attention turned to his bride who was being escorted by her father, walking slowly down the aisle.

While Edward had long since amended his first impression that Isabella was merely handsome, he could not recall a more alluring sight. The pearls embroidered into her gown and woven through her hair glittered in the sunlight streaming through the church windows, while the gold of her gown complemented her colouring. After her father delivered her to his side, Edward broke with tradition and bent to murmur in her ear, "You look absolutely beautiful."

After their kiss, he had worried about maintaining his control and took advantage of their diligent chaperonage to keep a physical distance. But when a tentative smile smoothed the apprehension from her brow, Edward regretted the barriers he had erected between them during the weeks of their betrothal.

Facing the front, he saw that Isabella's father had taken his place before the altar, ready to perform the ceremony.

In another break from protocol, Edward had ignored the insistence from his peers that a viscount should be married by a bishop, preferably in a cathedral or abbey. Having no desire to deal with the pomp and pageantry of a London wedding, he had readily agreed when Isabella expressed a wish to marry in the church at Forkton. Since he was intent on denying her the chance of motherhood, it seemed fitting he fulfil at least one of her girlhood dreams. The only problem with their choice was the church could not hold all of the guests eager to attend. Consequently, most of the village folk were relegated to waiting outside due to a lack of space. The compromise bothered Isabella, but there were only so many conventions they could flout.

Standing in front of the congregation with Isabella at his side, Edward listened to her father's words of wisdom. Their vows echoed his admonishment that they were to treat one another with respect, patience, kindness, and forbearance. Promising to have and to hold one another brought a lump to Edward's throat when he considered what they would be denied. But it was with all sincerity he vowed, whether rich or poor, in sickness or in health, through triumph or tragedy, to love, honour, and respect Isabella until death they did part. Although doubting she meant them quite the same way, Edward savoured her vows to do likewise.

He had never heard words of love nor expected to speak them himself, and he briefly contemplated telling Isabella of his true feelings. But the vicar's prayer that God would bless them with a long and _fruitful_ life together, reminded him of his limitations.

After running the gauntlet of nobles and gentry intent on offering their congratulations, Edward and Isabella emerged into the sunshine as man and wife to be met by a spattering of rice and the well wishes of the local villagers and manor staff. That some continued to eye him with suspicion was no less than he expected.

 **~P &P~**

Isabella was determined not to exclude the people who had supported her during the years when, by virtue of her endeavours, she had lived more like a commoner than a gentleman's daughter. To that end, she insisted an afternoon tea be provided for _all_ those who attended their nuptials. To the shock of many present at Lord and Lady Masen's wedding reception, dowagers found themselves sitting side-by-side with dressmakers, and lords were required to mingle with labourers.

The manor's largest and most opulent drawing room was put to good use, its doors thrown open, and cloth-covered tables and velvet-padded chairs spread out across the manicured lawns. Six weeks had been just long enough for the small army of gardeners Edward now employed to transform the grounds overlooking the lake. It was the perfect setting for a celebration the Masen district would not forget in a hurry.

When they were forced to separate, Edward's gaze followed Isabella as she mingled with their guests. The genuine affection in which she was held, especially by those of the working class, spoke volumes of her character. Unlike most of his peers, Edward had progressed through the officers' ranks on merit, not patronage. Winning the respect of the men who served beneath him had been his priority. Discovering the supposedly common man had a great deal to offer by way of practical wisdom had been a lesson he was determined not to forget. That he and Isabella were like-minded in their opinions augured well for their union, or so he hoped.

To placate the local society, a formal dinner for one hundred invited guests—the cream of Masen and surrounds—was held in the early evening. Edward's staff did him proud. The grand dining hall, already an opulent room, was decorated with an abundance of blooms, the side tables adorned with exotic ice sculptures. The multiple-course dinner, prepared by chef's hired for the occasion, was a gourmet's delight. However, Edward's favourite element of the evening, other than having his new bride at his side, was the string quartet employed to play softly in the background. He would be sad to see them go and considered keeping them on permanent retainer, an expensive exercise but one he could easily afford. Dismissing the idea with a shake of his head, he could imagine Isabella's response to such extravagance.

Her shoulders slumped a little as they waved off the last of their guests. The procession of lantern-lit carriages making its way down the long, winding driveway to the village below was a mesmerizing sight.

"Are you tired, my dear?" Edward asked. Tempted to embrace her, he made do with linking their arms.

"A little." She looked up at him, the smile she had worn since the ceremony beginning to fade.

"Did you enjoy the day?" he asked as they made their way inside their shared home.

"Of course," she said.

He detected sadness in her eyes. "What is it?"

"Nothing really."

He halted them in the vaulted foyer and looked into her eyes, prompting a response.

"I am just a little disappointed that Alice did not stay for dinner. At least she came to the wedding and afternoon tea."

Isabella wouldn't reveal the reason for her estrangement with her best friend. Edward had suggested she inform Miss Brandon of the true nature of their union, to rid her of any concern she might possess for her friend's safety. To his surprise, Isabella had murmured something about having tried that already. Edward was aware that most of their society held Miss Brandon's illegitimacy against her while making good use of her skills when they were needed. Suspicious she might fear rejection once her friend was a viscountess, he had taken a moment to assure Miss Brandon she would always be welcome in his home.

"I'm sure she will come around in time. At least Tanya is no longer eyeing me like I am the devil incarnate. That must count for something?"

As hoped, his comment brought a smile to Isabella's lips.

"A yearly allowance of five hundred pounds has altered her perception considerably."

Edward refrained from comment, not wanting to rekindle their earlier disagreement about her sisters' dowries.

He turned them towards the stairs, allowing a group of waiting footmen to lower the chandelier that hung from the three-storey ceiling above them, so as to douse the dozens of candles that illuminated the foyer.

"What happens now?" Isabella asked softly.

"It is getting late. I suggest we retire."

"The servants will know if we don't spend time together on our wedding night." She glanced at him then looked away. "Shall I come to your room or will you visit mine?"

"I will come to you. It is traditional."

Edward considered apologising to his new bride for the unconventional nature of their union, but she was aware of his reasoning. Just when he thought he must say _something_ to ease the tension, she made a surprising confession.

"My parents shared a bedroom. Did I ever tell you that?"

Edward shook his head, intrigued by the disclosure.

"The curate's residence where I was born wasn't much more than a cottage, not that the average vicarage boasts separate suites for master and mistress."

He smiled at her wry tone as they slowly made their way up the stairs. It had been a long day for him also. While he had managed it without his cane, his leg was feeling the effects.

"My bedroom was next to theirs," Isabella continued. "I used to lie awake just so I could hear the murmur of their voices. Sometimes, I would hear them laughing together in the middle of the night. It was the most wonderful sound."

"I imagine it was." Edward could barely comprehend such a thing.

"If I awoke before they'd arisen, I would try the door to their room. Sometimes it was locked." She eyed him knowingly, and he raised his eyebrows in surprise. "But other times it wasn't, and I would sneak inside and climb onto their bed. I am sure they knew I was there the whole time, but it was a lovely game we played. When they awoke they would pounce on the 'intruder,' tickling me until I laughed so hard I would beg them to stop. Then they would tell me stories. Tanya gets her imagination from our mother," she added in an aside, although Edward thought Isabella's ability to tell a captivating tale was not to be discounted.

"What happened when your sisters arrived? You were seven when Rosalie was born?"

Isabella nodded. "Mama lost two babies in between, both boys. I think my parents were worried I would be jealous of Rosalie, but I was so happy to have a sibling . . . and to see the smile on my mother's face. I was quite the doting older sister."

"I'd wager you were quite the little _mother_."

Isabella's smile faded, and Edward regretted his flippancy. She was a born nurturer, and he hated that marriage to him had denied her the opportunity for motherhood, not that she'd had any other offers. The men in this district were fools.

Upon reaching the top of the landing, they both hesitated.

"Could you wait a while before coming to my room? Even with Angela's help, I suspect it will take me some time to remove all the pearls and pins from my hair."

"Certainly." The image her words conjured caused Edward's chest to tighten. He wanted to ask her to leave her hair down rather than braid it as he expected she would, but he had surrendered the right to make such requests when he denied them the possibility of a true union—another sacrifice he lay at the feet of the Masen Curse. Despite the many hours he had spent with Isabella's father, Edward wasn't convinced the thing could be beaten. While there was even a shadow of a doubt, he must act as if it was still a deadly threat.

 **~P &P~**

 **Just a shortish chapter, but I hoped you enjoyed it. Next chapter is another of my favourites. :)**

 **I need some advice.**

 **I have had so many requests from lovely readers who would like to purchase the original version of my stories in ebook or paperback form, that I am considering self publishing them, so I can put them back up on Amazon. I promise, I will continue posting the 'twific' versions on Fan Fiction Net where they will be available for free. I'm guessing some people just like to have a physical copy of the story, or they may like to recommend them to friends and family members who aren't fanfic readers. The biggest problem I have with self-publishing is the cost. I cannot use the covers that were created by The Writer's Coffee Shop and have to come up with new covers which are expensive to buy. I'm tempted to have a go at creating my own covers just using the title words on a pretty background of some sort. Do you think people would still buy a historical romance without** **pictures of the hero and heroine on the front?**

 **xx Elise**


	22. Possibility

**Thank you so much for all the feedback and suggestions regarding self publishing my stories. The vast majority of us actually prefer covers that don't show the main characters, so that we can imagine what they look like ourselves...and because the historical fiction ones, in particular, tend to all look the same and can sometimes be pretty tacky. I'm hoping my lovely banner maker might be able to help me come up with something. :) On an exciting note, I managed to get my EIN (Employment Identification Number) from the IRS, which is a big hurdle crossed. Otherwise, I'd have had to pay 30% commission to the US govt, as well as 30% to Amazon, and I don't even live there!**

 **I am really glad you guys enjoyed the wedding. A few guest reviewers have gotten a bit fed up with the lack of progress and miscommunication between these two, and that's okay. I think the pace suits the era and this particular couple, but I know a slow burn is not to everyone's liking. I do think you guys are going to love this chapter. Because of my memory issues, each chapter is fairly new to me, and this one made me both laugh and swoon. ;)**

 **xx Elise**

 **~P &P~**

 **Chapter 22**

 **Possibility**

"Thank you, Angela. That will be all." Isabella dismissed her lady's maid with a smile.

Against her mentors' specific instructions, she was becoming friends with the French woman. Angela du Chaud was an enigma, her English surprisingly good—much better than Isabella's French—and her level of education far surpassing what was expected of one in her position. Isabella suspected Angela had an interesting story and hoped, in time, the woman would trust her enough to reveal what had led her to her current position.

"You are not nervous are you, my lady?"

Isabella's rueful smile acknowledged the validity of the maid's concern.

The nightgown and matching robe she had donned were quite daring for a new bride, a gift from one of the premiere London dressmakers now vying for her patronage. If this was a typical wedding night, Isabella doubted she would have been bold enough to wear the ensemble that revealed almost as much as it concealed. In hopes of adding to her allure, she'd left her hair unbraided after it had been brushed to a silken shine. She had even dabbed a few drops of cologne at her wrists.

"You _do_ know what's going to happen?" Angela asked, looking over Isabella's shoulder in the dressing table mirror.

Isabella knew what she _hoped_ would happen, though the odds were slim.

"I am not afraid of _that._ " Taking a deep breath, she decided to confide in her new companion. "I am worried my husband won't find me appealing."

To her surprise, Angela laughed. "Have you seen the way his lordship looks at you? You have absolutely nothing to fear."

Isabella's hopes swelled. "How does he look at me?"

"Like a man who very much likes what he sees."

"But he's only kissed me the once. The day of our betrothal," Isabella said then flinched at having made such a disclosure.

Angela raised an auburn brow, seeming neither shocked nor offended. "That's because he is a gentleman, not evidence of lack of interest. Believe me, I can tell when a man desires a woman, and your viscount has eyes for no other."

Isabella hoped her maid was correct, for if her courage didn't fail her, she intended using that desire to help her husband overcome his ethics. Regardless of her resolve, she jumped like a startled rabbit at Edward's knock.

Her time was up.

"I am sure everything will be fine." Angela gave her a reassuring smile before opening the door that led to Edward's suite then excusing herself with a curtsy.

"Well, that should take care of the servants." Edward closed the door behind the departing maid. "I hope I haven't kept you waiting too—" Coming to a halt a few yards into the room, his jaw dropped. "Good heavens!"

"Is my gown not appropriate? Angela said it was fitting for my wedding night." Isabella allowed herself the white lie. Moving to stand beside the bed, she kept her expression guileless as if she wasn't aware her breasts were clearly delineated by the form-fitting bodice. Both gown and robe were fashioned from the same diaphanous fabric and, with the candelabra positioned strategically behind her, every line and curve of her body was on display. "I hope you don't mind," she added.

"No . . . that's perfectly . . . of course, I don't mind." Edward took a deep breath. "You look beautiful," he said for the second time that day, boosting her confidence.

"Thank you." Isabella took a moment to appreciate his form in return. Dressed in a long dark robe with his bare legs peeking out the bottom, she thought him very handsome.

"We should sit . . . and talk," he said, looking around the room, his brow furrowing at the absence of seating.

Isabella had requested the chaise lounge and matching padded chair be moved to her private sitting room, leaving only the velvet-padded stool that sat before her dressing table and the bed as potential seats.

"I hadn't thought to keep the chairs in here," she lied for the second time, her fingers crossed behind her back. "Would you mind if we sat on the bed?"

Isabella hid a smile at Edward's audible gulp. Turning, she looked at him over her shoulder and casually brushed her hair back from her face. While she may never have had cause to act in a flirtatious manner before, that did not mean she hadn't observed it on occasion. Her only concern was she might overplay her hand and come off looking foolish. So far, if Edward's stunned expression was anything to go by, she seemed to be doing quite well.

There had been numerous times over the previous weeks when Isabella had reason to doubt her plan. For a while, she had convinced herself he would not attempt a repeat of their kiss, because he had not enjoyed it the first time. But then she had been informed otherwise by the memory of his arms wrapped tightly around her while he had moaned against her mouth. Edward might not love her the way she loved him, but he desired her, and she was more than willing to use that to further her cause.

Without waiting for his reply, Isabella climbed onto the bed. Scooting to the far side as elegantly as her unladylike behaviour allowed, she sat with her back to the headboard, the pillows propped behind her.

"Edward?" she prompted when he continued to stand statue-like in the middle of her room.

"Are you sure you don't mind my joining you?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

"Not at all." Isabella smiled. "You are my husband, and it _is_ our wedding night. I am sure some private conversation conducted while seated upon my bed is allowed."

Edward barked a laugh. "We both know more than that is _allowed,_ it is just not advisable in our case."

"So, you insist," Isabella muttered.

After moving the pillows to put a little more distance between them, Edward climbed onto the bed and sat in a position that mirrored hers. Isabella refused to be discouraged, as one had to start somewhere.

"It is nice to sit back and relax after such a tiring day." Stretching, she took a deep breath, unsurprised to find Edward's gaze directed towards her well-displayed assets. Isabella had never given herself much credit before, but she was coming to realise there was more to attracting a mate than a girlishly pretty face. A womanly figure didn't hurt. "What would you like to talk about while we wait?"

"Pardon?" Edward croaked, dragging a spare pillow across his lap.

His action stirred the memory of the day she had demonstrated to Dawkins how to massage Edward's leg. He had done the same thing then, but it only just dawned on her why he deemed it necessary. It was a good thing the room wasn't brightly lit, for Isabella feared her cheeks had turned the colour of a tomato. She might have seen and even been required to touch Edward intimately when he was ill, but she imagined the experience would be quite different when he was in a state of arousal. Realising that on both occasions it had been either her touch or appearance that had caused his body's response, the breath caught in her throat. Any doubts she'd had as to her desirability where her husband was concerned were completely and thankfully dispelled. He _did_ want her. She just had to convince him to act on his inclination.

"How long are you planning to stay before you return to your room?" Isabella asked, needing to know within what time frame she was working.

"Half an hour?"

Her brow furrowed.

"Too long?" Edward asked after clearing his throat. "I can leave sooner if you like."

"I would have said too short." She couldn't keep the censure from her tone. "You will give the servants reason to speak of you disparagingly."

"Why?" He glanced towards the door, looking bewildered.

"Well, it wouldn't say much for your sensitivity if you managed to greet, seduce, deflower, and then abandon your new bride all in the time it takes to drink a cup of tea, would it?"

Edward gaped. "I was advised it is _insensitive_ to inflict one's attentions upon one's wife for too long or too frequently."

Isabella groaned. "That's almost as bad as the advice _I_ was given, but I had the common sense to dismiss it."

"What advice were you given and by whom? _Please_ tell me you weren't discussing our marital bed with the likes of Ladies Brandon and Westcott?"

"Not by choice." Isabella secretly gloated at his wording, pleased he was at least considering their marriage bed. "Who told you that nonsense about rushing in and out of here like a bull in a china shop?"

Edward's shoulders began to shake, and he put his hand across his mouth.

"What?" she demanded, feigning ignorance as to the source of his humour. If he made a comment about her being the heifer in the china shop, she would not be amused.

"I would rather not say who advised me to act in a perfunctory manner," Edward said when he had himself under control. "But you must tell me what advice you are ignoring. I assume it's the pigeon pair of what I received?"

"It sounds like it." Isabella rolled her eyes. "I was _informed_ that while a husband will enjoy claiming his conjugal rights, a wife is to expect pain and humiliation. In fact, if she is not thoroughly repulsed, enduring stoically out of a sense of duty, she can't be much of a lady. If the wife, God forbid, should happen to enjoy her husband's attentions, she is supposed to deny her feelings and _suppress_ any such inclination."

"But that's—"

"Horrid? Hypocritical? Unfair? Unbiblical? Have these people never read Song of Solomon?"

"It certainly explains a few of the miserable tales I have been told, not that I expect you would have wept hysterically if we _had_ consummated the marriage. You are far too sensible for such a reaction."

"Thank you," Isabella said dryly. As compliments went, she'd had better.

"So," Edward said after a few moments passed. "Are you saying if I _were_ to claim my conjugal rights, you would expect to enjoy the experience?"

"I can't see why not. I certainly enjoyed our kiss. If there was more kissing involved, and if you weren't in a dreadful rush"—she eyed him pointedly—"I have a feeling it could be very pleasant."

Edward's eyes widened . . . and _darkened . . ._ and his mouth opened and closed several times.

"It's just a pity you are so opposed to the idea"—Isabella took a deep and prolonged breath—"even though we are legally married and perfectly entitled to indulge our passion for one another."

Edward choked. It was the perfect response, as she was forced to span the distance between them and pat him on the shoulder. When that didn't help, she was required to lean all the way across his body to reach the glass of water on the bedside table. She was practically sitting on his lap when she offered it to him.

"Thank you." He wheezed before taking the glass and downing it in one long swallow.

"Did I say the wrong thing?" Isabella asked after he put the glass aside, his hand trembling. She remained kneeling at his side, their thighs touching. "I didn't mean to offend you."

"You didn't." His hands came up to grasp her shoulders as if he was holding her in place, not that she had any intention of moving away. "I appreciate your honesty. I just wasn't expecting you to be so . . . so . . . honest _._ I mean, I had _hoped_ you might feel the same way about our kiss—"

"You enjoyed it, too?"

"Of course, I enjoyed it."

His thumbs traced circles on her shoulders, and Isabella shivered. With mere inches between them, and despite knowing she ran the risk of truly dreadful rejection, she leaned closer and pressed her lips to Edward's. For a long moment, he did not move, and it was testament to her determination that she persisted. With a boldness borne of desperation, and no little desire, she skimmed her hands up his chest while moving her mouth against his. It was the same action he'd used when he had first kissed her, at least she hoped she was remembering correctly. It certainly felt lovely . . . for her. Just when she was about to give up, a wave of mortification rising within her, Edward wrapped his arms around her, one hand pressing against the middle of her back and the other cupping her neck. His fingers threaded through her hair, angling her head a little further to the side so he could deepen the kiss.

Isabella sagged against him in relief. He wasn't rejecting her. He was _kissing_ her, holding her, and it felt wonderful, sensual, exciting, everything she remembered from the day of their betrothal. She whimpered and wrapped her hands around his shoulders. Aligning her body with his more fully, she hugged him close, the action pressing her barely covered breasts against the wall of his chest. They both moaned at the contact, and Edward took advantage of her open mouth to invade it with his tongue.

It was Isabella's turn to freeze, unsure why he would do such a thing.

Edward slowed his movements and, fearing he might stop altogether, she tilted her head, urging him to continue. As his tongue stroked softly inside her mouth, Isabella began to understand the appeal of the extraordinary act. She could taste him, and the feel of his tongue brushing against her own was surprisingly pleasurable. His lips moulded to hers, first from one direction and then another, and Isabella lost herself in the wonder of this strange new way of kissing.

When she tentatively stroked his tongue with her own, Edward moaned again. Encouraged by her response, his hands roamed her back and over her hips, growing bolder as the kiss continued. Happiness welled within her as she realised how powerful her effect was upon him, as powerful as his was upon her. Acting more boldly than she had ever imagined herself doing, Isabella knocked aside the pillow that lay across his thighs and straddled his lap. The position brought them into closer contact, and for the first time, she felt his aroused member beneath her. Unflinching, she allowed her weight to settle upon him, triggering a wave of heat to pool at the juncture of her thighs.

A sound erupted from Edward's throat, half growl, half moan. To her dismay he broke the kiss, but then he buried his face in the curve of her neck and rocked their bodies together. It felt so good, so right, that she pressed against him, holding him close. After a few moments during which he trailed kisses along the curve of her shoulder and neck, triggering delicious tingles of delight, his movements slowed. When they stilled altogether, she whimpered again, but this time in frustration.

"Please don't stop. It feels wonderful."

"I know."

His voice sounded deeper than usual, guttural and raw. Isabella pulled back. Her weight was resting on his thighs, and she rubbed her hands up and down his arms.

"Oh dear, I have hurt you. I am too heavy."

"You are not too heavy." His right hand cupped her cheek as he looked at her with sorrow-filled eyes. "But we cannot continue. It is too dangerous."

"It will be all right," she said, but her tone lacked confidence.

"I am sorry, my darling."

It was the first time he had used such an endearment, and tears filled her eyes.

His features twisted with anguish. "Please, don't cry."

"But I want a _real_ marriage. With you."

Edward let his forehead drop to rest against hers.

"You know that can't happen. We decided."

" _You_ decided," Isabella said, and he raised his head. "I said from the beginning I thought the curse could be broken."

"You didn't argue with me when I said it couldn't." He frowned. "Was this your plan all along? To try and change my mind _after_ we were married?"

"No," she said, but without much force. "Maybe." Her shoulders slumped. "I hoped Papa could convince you otherwise during all those hours of Bible study and prayer. You have to admit it was a _lot_ of prayer, and I thought you would relent out of sheer desperation."

Embarrassed to have been caught out, Isabella lifted herself from Edward's lap and returned to her side of the bed. He let her go, and she half expected him to get up and leave.

"Isabella?" He reached to clasp the hand that had fallen into her lap. "Will you look at me?"

Reluctantly she did as he asked.

"Please don't feel bad. Your father's arguments are very compelling. He is a man of undeniable faith and reason . . ."

"But?"

"But we are talking about your _life._ If he is wrong—if I fail in my part—you would _die._ "

"People die all the time." She moved back onto her knees, bringing herself a little closer. "You could have died from any one of your wounds. The fact that you are alive today is a miracle."

"That is different," he said. "To deliberately put you in harm's way would be unconscionable."

"The risk would be minimal."

"Would it?" He raised his brows. "Your father could not _guarantee_ the curse is broken, not even after all we did to address it."

"That's because life doesn't come with guarantees," Isabella said, hoping to win him over but fearing she was fighting a losing battle. "You are right. I can't promise you I won't die in childbirth. But you can't promise me you won't be killed in a riding accident or when you are inspecting one of your mines, or for any number of reasons. I pray it doesn't happen, but we can't guarantee either one of us won't be carried away by an accident or illness. That shouldn't stop us from living in the meantime."

Edward withdrew his hand. "You would risk leaving me to raise our newborn son alone?"

There was no denying the bitterness in his tone, and Isabella wondered how to proceed.

"My hope would be for us to raise our children together. Can you promise me you will not leave me a widow?"

Edward groaned and ran his hand through the hair she had already tousled.

"I should go."

He stood abruptly, and she wrapped her arms around her knees, tucking them against her chest.

"So that's it, then? Your decision is final?"

"I don't know." He shrugged. "I need time to think."

"I understand." Isabella's voice caught on a sob, and she hid her face against her knees. Edward was a man of honour. He would never betray his scruples, not if he thought there was the slightest chance that doing so would put her life in danger.

"Sweetheart, please don't." The bed dipped as he sat beside her and drew her into his embrace.

Isabella did not cry easily, but it had been a long day, one in which she had run the full gamut of emotions. Allowing herself the indulgence, she wept against Edward's shoulder while he stroked her back.

"I am sorry," she murmured when speech was possible.

"You have nothing to apologise for."

"I tried to seduce you," she admitted with a half-laugh, half-sob. "You must think me a fool."

"I am honoured you would even consider such a thing." The sincerity and wonder in his expression were undeniable, but then a frown darkened his features. "Would you tell me one thing?"

"Anything."

"Earlier . . . was it real, or were you playing a part?"

His insecurity tugged at Isabella's heartstrings, and she felt even worse for having tried to trick him. Wanting to reassure him of her sincerity, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed a kiss to his scarred cheek.

"It was very real," she whispered.

"Thank God." Edward pulled her against him, and they held each other close.

"Might I suggest a compromise?" he offered some moments later.

Curious, Isabella lifted her head.

"Since, as you put it, we are legally wed and entitled to spend as much time together as we want, what would you say to my spending the night?"

Her heart began pounding in her chest. "But I thought you needed time to think?"

"Just to sleep," he said, with a sad half-smile. "You mentioned your parents shared a bed, and I thought you might like me to stay with you since it is our wedding night. I realise you were hoping for more, but—"

"That would be lovely," Isabella quickly interjected, hope rekindled. If Edward was willing to share her bed, then anything was possible.

 **~P &P~**

 **The full gamut of emotion for us poor readers, too!**

 **I don't _think_ it's a spoiler to say, that as this story has a very happy ending, they will eventually get there. It won't take too much longer, I promise.**

 **xx Elise**

 **Fic recs -**

 **Lonely in Your Nightmare by RobzBeanie - This one has just been marked complete. It's a lovely read.**

 **Killer and Bee by ceceprincess1217 - A Mobward tale, so a little dark and disturbing but a lot of fun!**

 **She Rocks My World by gabby1017 - A very cool take on a Rocker Edward with an unusual secret.**


	23. Beginnings

**An early post, as my lovely granddaughter is vying for either my undivided attention...or Netflix, which requires me to hand over the computer!**

 **xx Elise**

 **~P &P~**

 **Chapter 23**

 **Beginnings**

Images from the day crowded Edward's mind like the changing patterns in a kaleidoscope. Isabella had looked so beautiful in her wedding gown, but the sight of her wearing the revealing nightgown had rendered him speechless. It was difficult to comprehend such an alluring woman was now his wife, or that she now lay sleeping in his arms.

Her back was to his chest, the soft curve of her bottom nestled against his groin. He had kept his distance, but once he was sure she was asleep, he couldn't resist the temptation to pull her close. With his arm wrapped around her waist, his fingers lay tantalisingly near the underside of her breasts.

Aroused and yet oddly content, Edward could happily have remained unmoving for the rest of the night, but he feared the loss of control sleep might bring. After extracting his arm from beneath his wife's body, he rose from the bed and stood staring down at her for a long moment before searching out his cold, lonely room.

~P&P~

"Are you sure my wife is on her way down?" Edward asked for the second time that morning.

"Yes, my lord," his butler replied. "Lady Masen informed her maid she would be taking breakfast in the dining room. She specifically asked if her husband would be present."

With a nod, Edward resumed his pacing.

He should not have left her. No, he shouldn't have said he would stay. He most certainly should not have kissed her. Edward huffed. She was his wife. He was _entitled_ to kiss her.

He was entitled to a great deal more, but that didn't make it right.

"Edward?"

At Isabella's greeting, he hobbled across the long dining room, his leg protesting the rigours of the previous day. She was wearing another new gown of a dusky pink colour. It suited her, as did the way she had styled her hair in soft curls around her face.

"You look lovely," he said after bowing over her hand.

"You left." She met his gaze then glanced away. "I suppose it was silly of me to think you would stay the entire night. It is hardly the done thing for those of your class."

" _Our_ class has nothing to do with it." Edward lowered his head to whisper in her ear. "What I wanted and what was wise were two separate entities."

"Oh." Isabella's eyes widened, the gold in their depths glittering. "You were tempted?"

"Most definitely." He might not be able to act upon his desire, but the last thing he wanted was for her to believe his decision indicated lack on her behalf. "But now is not the time to speak of such things." His gaze flickered to the hovering servants.

"No, I suppose not," Isabella murmured, her demeanour brightening noticeably.

Edward had no intention of being separated by the length of the thirty-seat dining table, and he guided her to the small table he had requested be set up overlooking the gardens.

"What are your plans for the day?" she asked as he helped her into her seat.

"Spending time with you."

Her smile grew, and Edward mirrored it. Although unwilling to consummate their marriage, he was determined to do everything in his power to make his wife happy. To that end, they spent the day doing whatever she wished. Her first request was an exploration of the parts of the manor they would put to most use, the library in particular.

"It is marvellous." She stared in awe at the cathedral-like room, its walls lined with rows of books gathered from around the globe. "One could stay lost in here for days . . . weeks."

"I certainly did when I was a boy." Edward wandered over to the section where he had spent many hours hiding out from his father's drunken rages or outrageous parties. Running his hands over the recently dusted leather spines, he spotted some of his old favourites. They were stories that told of adventure in far-off lands, battles fought, and histories of exotic locations.

Following his lead, Isabella began to peruse the shelves, stopping here and there to remove a book and leaf through its pages. As private libraries went, it was quite extensive. Aware of his father's esoteric tastes, in particular those that veered towards the vulgar, Edward steered Isabella away from certain sections. He was still in the process of culling those tomes he feared would offend her sensibilities. While most of his father's acquisitions were tasteless in Edward's opinion, he had found himself putting certain selections aside. It was difficult to justify his reasoning, as it was not as if he would ever have opportunity to put their exotic revelations into practice. Not those of a sexual nature, anyway.

Hit by a wave of despondency, Edward found himself wishing, not for the first time, that he had not been born a Masen. While the joy he felt at Isabella's proximity was undiluted, the knowledge he had disappointed her the night before, and would undoubtedly do so again, weighed heavily on his heart.

When Isabella announced she'd had her temporary fill of the library, Edward escorted her through the remainder of the manor's central wing. He loved the feel of her hand tucked through the crook of his left elbow. The damned thing wouldn't straighten anyway, but with their arms linked, he could almost forget his limitations.

Their next destination was the salon, where the statuary and paintings by artists, famous and unknown, quickly captured her attention.

"I used to make up tales about the people in the paintings," he said, gesturing around them. "Imaginary lives filled with adventure."

"Did you give their stories happy endings?" she asked, standing in front of a large oil painting depicting a medieval family. "Or were you a typical boy and killed them all off in some gruesome manner?"

"The more outrageously violent the better," he lied. While he had occasionally indulged his boyish tendency towards tragic tales, his own life had been difficult enough. He had preferred to imagine people finding happiness and love.

"What of our tale?" She moved to stand before him. "What ending do you predict for us?"

"A long and happy one." After taking her hand, he leaned down to softly brush her lips with his. This time, he managed to keep the kiss chaste, but there was no mistaking the look of longing in Isabella's eyes when he straightened. It was a look that perfectly mirrored his own feelings.

"Come," he said gruffly. "I want to show you the ballroom. I have some ideas for its refurbishment, but I would like to hear your thoughts."

Isabella smiled. Whether it was due to their kiss or because he had asked for her input, Edward was unsure. Regardless, he felt he was beginning to understand his new wife. While she was very capable and at times a little bossy—a consequence, no doubt, of the responsibility she had borne throughout her adult life—she could also be wary, used to taking a position of deference in society. Edward wanted her to know her place was by his side and her opinion was paramount. Consequently, he asked for it often, treasuring her insights and the opportunity to get to know her more deeply.

At the end of their first day of matrimony, their evening meal extended far beyond the usual time. So engaged were they in conversation, they kept forgetting to eat the delicacies placed before them.

"I thought we might establish a tradition of sorts," Edward said after Isabella declared she could not consume another bite. "You might have noticed the drawing rooms range in size from generous to downright cavernous?" Her quiet laugh confirmed she shared his view. "I thought, on those evenings we are not entertaining, you might like to share them with me in a more congenial setting."

He had been going to say _intimate_ but thought better of it.

Isabella leaned forward in her seat. "Where did you have in mind?"

"I thought we could make use of the sitting room attached to the master suite," he said, hoping she would not read too much into his proposal. "The one you used as an office while I was convalescing? It has a cosy feel, and will be easy to heat in the winter."

"That's an excellent idea." Isabella smiled. "Shall we go there now? Unless you want me to leave you alone while you indulge in brandy and a cigar."

"Why would I want to do that?" Edward rose and came to assist her from her chair. "I never saw the appeal of sitting in a cloud of foul-smelling smoke, and I rarely imbibe, certainly not when alone."

"Really?" Isabella seemed impressed by his revelation. "I thought all gentlemen indulged as a matter of course."

"Not all." Certainly not the sixth Viscount Masen, who had no intention of following in the footsteps of his forebears when it came to drunkenness and the misery it engendered.

He ushered Isabella into the sitting room that held some of his most cherished memories. Who knew recovering from life-threatening injury could be the happiest time in one's life? To his distress, her expression became noticeably downcast.

"What is it?"

"You removed my desk."

"To a more sensible location." He hid his smile. The wife he was beginning to read rather well rearranged her features to hide her disappointment.

"Of course. I imagine I shall need a study of my own."

"If you wish, though I thought you might prefer to share mine on the ground floor since we will be working together so closely."

"We will?" Her eyes lit up.

"You are my resident expert on the needs of the locals." He stood before her and rested his hands upon her shoulders. "Your advice and ideas are invaluable, not that I expect you to assist me in the running of the viscountcy, of course. You will be busy enough with the household and keeping track of our social engagements and whatnot. I wouldn't want to overburden you—"

"Working with you could never be a burden." The husky timbre of Isabella's voice caused the muscles in his abdomen to tighten. When she lifted on her toes, clearly aiming to kiss his cheek—she always chose the scarred one, as if to let him know it didn't bother her—his resistance crumbled. Turning his head at the last moment, he captured her lips, his arms encircling her and drawing her close.

There was nothing chaste about this kiss. It lasted for many minutes, more a series of kisses, brushes of lips, nibbling tastes, and soft strokes of lips and tongue. Edward managed to keep it to a gentle exploration, though it took some willpower not to escalate it to a hungry devouring of one another's mouths. For the first time, Isabella was the one to draw their kiss to a close, her breath coming in soft pants and her brown eyes appearing almost golden in the firelit room.

"Have you given any more consideration to our plight? I don't want to rush you—"

"But kisses aren't enough." A stab of pain replaced his burgeoning passion. With a groan, he stepped back and ran his good hand through his hair.

"No. Kisses are wonderful." She placed a hand on his arm, her light touch holding him as firmly in place as if she had the strength of ten men. "I am sorry. You asked for time. I shouldn't have pressed."

"What if kisses are all I can ever offer?" He couldn't hide his anguish, and saw it reflected in her eyes.

"Then I will treasure each and every one." She moved her hand to place it over his heart. "I can't begin to tell you how much your friendship means to me, Edward. To know you value my opinion and want me by your side is an extraordinary gift and more than I ever hoped for."

He covered her hand and pressed it to his chest. "Your friendship means a great deal to me also."

"Then we are in agreement, not that we won't _disagree_ at times." The smile that curved her lips released some of the tension he was holding. "I should warn you," she continued, "you won't always like my opinion. I shan't be afraid to say when I think you are wrong."

He shook his head in mock dismay. "Not even forty-eight hours have passed since you promised to honour and obey, and you're already threatening mutiny." Edward's smile faltered when he recalled the other things they had promised each other. To have and to hold. To raise a family together.

"I shall avoid calling you on your errors in public. Will that do?" Isabella said with a smile.

Edward strove to hide his sombre thoughts. "Not at all. Public castigation by my wife will keep me from becoming puffed up. It's the downfall of many a viscount."

"And what of a viscountess?" She matched his light tone, but her smile faded. "Do you have any advice to help her avoid accusations of unworthiness?"

Taking her hand, Edward led her to the leather chesterfield he'd had installed in the sitting room for this very purpose. After drawing her down beside him on the right, he stretched his good arm around her shoulders.

"A viscountess need answer to only the occasional duchess, marchioness, princess, or queen, and we don't have any of those around here."

"Tell that to the ladies of Masen," Isabella murmured, letting her head rest against his shoulder.

Edward's heart swelled with pride that she felt comfortable enough to do so. The day had been a success, and he only drew it to a close when he noticed his new bride hiding a yawn behind her hand.

"I think we had best call it a night." He leaned over to kiss the top of her head.

"If you insist." She sighed before meeting his gaze. "You are not going to share my bed, are you?"

He shook his head. "Not tonight," he said, unsure why he had worded it that way. Despite saying he would consider her request, the risk was too great. Since he couldn't bear to lose Isabella, he had no intention of sharing her bed ever again.

 **~P &P~**

 **Anyone interested in wagering how long he'll keep his vow?**

 **I hope you enjoyed their first day of marriage together. For a couple who are woefully inexperienced, and lacking in some pertinent information, they do seem quite mature in some ways.**

 **As always, I love hearing your thoughts and cherish your words of encouragement or suggestions on how to improve my writing. A few of you have picked up on some mistakes I've made with various names (converting this story from an Original Fiction to Twific has been a challenge!), which I've gone back to change. Thanks for letting me know. :)**

 **xx Elise**


	24. Unbearable

**Between spending the day at the aquarium with my granddaughter and then struggling with a bout of gastro (ugh!) I almost skipped updating today. But so many of you have said that seeing a new chapter in your inbox is the highlight of your day, and I didn't want to disappoint you. I think you guys are going to like this one.**

 **xx Elise**

 **~P &P~**

 **Chapter 24**

 **Unbearable**

After another shared breakfast, Edward asked Isabella if she would like to go riding. He had purchased her a lovely chestnut mare and was eager for them to become acquainted.

"I thought we could explore the estate," he added, but the fear that appeared in her eyes causing him to reconsider his plan. "You don't ride?" He could have kicked himself for assuming. She had been raised a curate's daughter on a minimal income. Maintaining a stable of leisure ponies was an expensive business.

"I was given opportunity when I visited Alice when she lived at the Brandon Estate, but I am not very good." She grimaced. "The first and last time I went on a hunt, I ended up in a ditch. It took weeks for the bruises to fade."

"What were you thinking?" Apprehension made Edward's tone harsher than he had intended. "Riding to hounds requires an experienced level of horsemanship. You could have been killed."

Isabella bristled. "I know that _now._ I had only ever ridden astride as a girl, as that is how one learns. Riding side-saddle is much more difficult, but it was the first invitation I accepted after my mother's death. I thought it would be a good way to reintroduce myself into society."

"Riding side-saddle is a preposterous notion," Edward said, hoping to ease the discomfiture he had caused her. "It takes years of practice to master. Would you be averse to riding astride? It is much safer. We could take it slow until you have built up your confidence."

"I would need a special riding habit." Isabella seemed taken by the idea, but then her expression fell. "But it is not the done thing. People will talk."

"Let them." Edward shrugged. "They will anyway, at least, they always have where I am concerned. I should have warned you about that, but then you might not have agreed to marry me."

"Since your proposal was intended to save me from serious conjecture, I hardly think that would have been likely."

Edward frowned at the reminder. Isabella might believe he had married her to rescue her reputation, but the gossip had worked in his favour, giving him the excuse he needed to do what his heart already craved.

"What about a drive instead?" Isabella's suggestion brought them back to the plans he'd had for the day. "We could take your new sulky."

Edward scowled. Like any officer, he could ride one-handed as long he had two reasonably sound legs with which to control his mount. His spare hand was needed for brandishing his sword. Unfortunately, carriage driving required two hands.

"I would need your help," he admitted, sacrificing his pride so as not to disappoint her. He formed his hands into two, unequal fists. "I can manage the reins with my right, but I will need you to be my whip hand."

"I would be honoured." Isabella covered the weak, loose curve he had formed with his left hand. The sensation was incomplete, but he appreciated he could feel anything with the hand he had not expected to keep, and he managed a gentle squeeze of her fingers in return.

They spent the day exploring some of his favourite haunts and enjoying a picnic lunch by the lake. One of the things he loved about Isabella was that while their conversation flowed easily, she did not feel the need to fill every silence with idle chatter. When she did speak, it was because she had something of worth to say.

Driving back to the manor through the extensive orchards, now sadly in need of attention, they responded with waves and nods to the greetings of his new labourers. Knowing at almost any time throughout the day they could be observed had helped him keep his demeanour suitably reserved. But once again, Edward found himself losing control when they retired to their private sitting room that night. Seated upon the chesterfield, they followed their first relatively chaste kiss with one that was less so. As passion overwhelmed him, Edward wondered how he would ever get enough of the taste and touch and feel of his wife. Holding her in the circle of his arms, he stroked her back, clutching her tightly. If he wasn't careful, he would have her stretched out beneath him on the padded leather seat, and then God alone knew how he would stop himself from taking things further. Calling on what little self-control he had left, he pulled away from her soft, sweet mouth.

"I think we had best call it a night." He rested his forehead against hers, both breathing hard. Her shoulders shook in response to his words, and he feared she had begun to cry.

"Isabella?" he said, and she seemed to collect herself. After taking several deep breaths, she pulled away, only the telltale trembling of her lips betraying her.

"Yes, of course." She did not meet his gaze. "Thank you for a wonderful day." She stood and crossed the room to the door that led to her suite, leaving him sitting forward on the seat with his elbows resting on his knees. It was impolite of him not to stand, but the effect of their shared passion would be all too visible if he did.

"Good night, Edward." She turned to face him, her smile strained.

He admired her courage, as smiling was beyond him.

"Good night, Isabella," he said, hoping she would have pleasant dreams.

He didn't expect to sleep at all.

 **~P &P~**

The next day, Edward went out of his way to make up for rejecting his wife. Enticing her to engage with him in passionate activity and then calling a halt was unpardonable behaviour for a gentleman. Determined not to send such mixed messages again, he vowed to maintain his reserve. While solicitous, he refrained from indulging in _too_ many kisses, no matter how great the temptation. Receiving word early in the day that his final wedding gift for Isabella had arrived, he waited anxiously for it to be readied. They were both in need of a distraction.

"I have a surprise for you," he said after lunch, leading her into the gold drawing room. It wasn't the cosiest of settings, being the largest of the manor's many parlours, but he'd had the furniture arranged to create the illusion of intimacy. He could have chosen a more modestly sized drawing room for her gift to preside, but this location would be ideal for entertaining.

The invitations were piling up now he and Isabella were married and would need to be offered in return once accepted. Edward had made sure his secretary was in no doubt the newlyweds were not to be disturbed for at least a fortnight after the wedding unless there was an emergency—a _dire_ one. Whitlock had been similarly charged in matters relating to the estate.

"I don't need another present," Isabella said, though her tone was light. "You have spoiled me enough. What else could you possibly give me?"

He gestured with a sweep of his arm. "Something that will give us both a great deal of enjoyment."

Isabella walked across the room as if in a dream. "A grand pianoforte. Oh, Edward. I don't know what to say."

"Say you'll play it for me . . . and sing. I love the sound of your voice. The day I returned to Forkton, it was your singing that drew me into the church. I never would have entered otherwise."

Pausing, she stared at him over her shoulder. "How fortunate you did, as was my finding you in time."

He assumed she meant before he had expired at the side of his father's grave, but he could not help wondering if there was more to her words.

That night, after spending the day enjoying her new toy, as he teasingly named it, they retired to their sitting room. More convinced than ever he must keep Isabella with him for as long as possible, he maintained his distance, or attempted to. His resolve faltered when it came time to say good night. His justification was that as long as it was only kisses they shared, all would be well.

The next few days passed similarly in conversation and shared activity. Edward could not recall a more congenial companion or a more pleasant passing of the time. But the evenings grew increasingly fraught.

"Edward, stop," Isabella said, five nights after their wedding, her eyes bright with unshed tears. His good-night kiss had begun without even a semblance of restraint and, within moments, they were half lying upon the leather couch. If Isabella had in any way rejected his advances, it might have been easier to maintain his control, but she came willingly into his arms. Not that he held her actions against her.

"I can't keep doing this," she said, her voice shaking. "Never knowing when you are going to call a halt."

He didn't think she meant to slam the door behind her when she ran from the room, but the sound stayed with him long into the night. The next day, the atmosphere between them was strained. He hoped the change of scenery might relieve the tension, but Isabella declined his invitation to take a carriage ride to Thornlie for the afternoon.

"I am sorry, but I have not been sleeping well." The shadows beneath her eyes lent proof to her words. "I think I might take a nap this afternoon."

"Of course. I will see you at dinner?"

After offering a barely perceptible nod, she left to go to her room. Edward's afternoon was spent attempting to catch up on estate correspondence, though his mind was elsewhere. He took his lead from Isabella that evening, in particular her efforts to appear unaffected, but their conversation faltered. After dinner, they ascended the stairs in silence, and Isabella hesitated when they reached the landing.

"You don't want to spend time with me?" Edward could not keep the hurt from his voice.

"It is not that I don't want to . . ."

"Come." Edward tugged on her arm, relieved when she did not resist. Once inside their private retreat, he faced her.

"I thought you said kisses were enough." He didn't mean to sound accusing, but fear coloured his tone. "I thought you understood why we can't take things further."

"I _do_ understand, but that doesn't mean I agree. Nor did I know that kisses could be so . . . so . . ." She spread her hands helplessly.

"What then? I must keep my distance altogether? We can't even have this between us?" He drew her against him and captured her mouth in a bruising kiss. She came willingly, responding without reservation but, once again, she was the one to break away.

"No more. You can't do this to me every night. I cannot sleep, Edward. The agitation is unbearable."

He groaned in frustration, both physical and emotional.

"So, it's all or nothing? Is that what you are saying?"

"I don't know." She looked up at him, her eyes filled with confusion. "Why are you so convinced the curse is still in effect? You and Papa spent hours together, talking and praying. Was it all an act on your part?"

"No more than you acted a part when you said you agreed to the terms of our marriage," he countered. "Do you not understand what is at stake, Isabella?"

"Every woman who bears a child is at risk, Edward. As I have said before, there are no guarantees in life."

"There is one," he said bitterly. "If you die giving birth to my heir, then he will carry the stigma of the Masen Curse for the rest of his life. Is that what you want for our son? To be demonised for something over which he has no control?"

"It wouldn't be like that. You wouldn't be alone . . . my family would support you. My sisters would gladly help raise our son. You would be a good father, caring and just. Our son's life would be different from yours. He would be _loved_ by his family from the moment he was born _._ "

"And as soon as he was old enough to understand, he would know he was hated and feared by everyone else. Do you know what it is like to be shunned, Isabella? To know you were instrumental in killing your own mother? I won't do that to a child of mine."

"That is not necessarily what would happen, Edward. You just need to have a little faith."

"I don't have any faith!" he roared, losing his temper. "And I won't change my mind."

Isabella flinched. Then she raised her chin and eyed him for a long moment, her expression a mixture of pain and disappointment.

"Then I can't keep playing this dangerous game, as we will end up getting carried away by our desires. I don't want our coupling to occur accidentally, as if the consummation of our marriage is some furtive, dishonourable thing. I am your _wife,_ Edward. I deserve better."

~P&P~

Edward was unsurprised when Isabella sent word she would be taking breakfast in her room the next morning. He could hardly blame her for not wanting to see him. Their argument had ended on an impasse, though he took heart from the fact she had lifted on her toes and swiftly kissed his cheek before departing. He had stood with his palm to the place her lips had touched for a very long time before retreating to his room, where sleep eluded him once more.

With no appetite of his own, he called for his horse to be saddled and left word he was going to visit Whitlock on estate business. It was only a partial truth, as there were far more important matters he wished to discuss with his friend.

"How's married life treating you, Masen?" Whitlock asked as he ushered Edward into his office in the estate manager's residence. "I understand if you would rather not talk about it . . . none of my business and all that."

"No, it's all right. I have come seeking advice." Edward seriously considered asking for a brandy, but since it was well before noon, he resisted.

"You've come to _me_ for marital advice?"

"Sorry to importune." Colour rose in Edward's cheeks, but he continued regardless. "You are the only friend I have in the region and the only peer I can trust to give me a sensible response."

"I'll do my best, though I don't know how much help I can be." Whitlock shrugged. "The advice I was given was next to useless, but I will pass it along for you to decide its value."

"I'd appreciate it." Edward had presumed Whitlock's marriage had been a happy one, that he had grieved his wife's passing. But his friend's grim expression had Edward questioning his assumption.

"Maria was very young when we married, and we hardly knew each other," Whitlock began. "After the wedding night, she could barely stand the sight of me."

"What went wrong?"

"Everything." He shook his head. "I'm not sure what she had been warned to expect, but she was terrified. She began weeping as soon as I entered her bedchamber. I did my best to reassure her, but it made little difference. I only lay with her a handful of times before she became with child a few weeks into the marriage. She barred the door against me after that, or so her lady's maid informed my valet. I was in no hurry to test the truth of her warning." Whitlock's tone was neutral, but Edward suspected his friend's indifference was feigned. "Maria understood her duty was to provide _two_ sons, but neither of us were inclined to repeat the experience. I barely saw her after Peter was born, only returning home on leave occasionally."

Edward was stunned by his friend's accounting and curious as to what could have precipitated such a disaster. "What advice _were_ you given?"

Whitlock snorted and then listed on his fingers. "That ladies consider intimate relations with their husbands an abhorrence—you won't hear any argument from me on that account. That a gentleman should not visit his wife's rooms more than once a week, twice at the very most in the beginning and only until she becomes with child. That when he does engage in intercourse, he should make it quick, clean, and as painless as possible. It's the same advice I was given for dispatching the enemy."

Edward swallowed hard. He had operated under a similar motto on the battlefield and had certainly never expected to hear marital relations described in such terms.

"I had high hopes things would be different for you and Lady Masen. As I've said before, she seems such a sensible sort. But you wouldn't be here if it was all smooth sailing." Whitlock's expression was rueful. "Did it go badly? You might need to leave it for a while. The first time can be painful for the woman. She probably just needs time to recover."

Edward grimaced. "We haven't actually gotten that far."

"Oh." Whitlock sat back. "I wouldn't have taken your wife for the missish type. You are wise to take it slow if she is that apprehensive. When the time comes, I would keep the lights low. Hopefully, if she does get a glimpse of your naked form, she is mature enough not to faint in fright. Awakening one's bride from unconsciousness to claim your conjugal rights is hardly the best way to promote marital bliss. In hindsight, I should have waited for Maria to overcome her fears, though I'm not sure that would ever have happened." He shrugged despondently. "Has Lady Masen given you any sort of time frame for when she might be willing? One does have a duty to consummate the marriage."

"My wife is not unwilling." Edward sighed. "I am."

For a long moment his friend stared at him blankly before comprehension dawned.

"You don't believe the curse is broken."

"It cannot be guaranteed." Edward snapped the words, his suppressed emotions simmering like acid in his belly.

Whitlock's oath was profane, but it summed up the situation perfectly.

"Does she know you love her?"

Edward shook his head. "She considers me a good friend."

"That's more than many can boast, but you are running a hell of a risk keeping the relationship platonic. If knowledge of this ever got out . . ."

If anything were to happen to Edward, the marriage would be annulled and Isabella would be disinherited and disgraced.

"You are the only one I have told, and I trust you not to say anything."

"Then what's the problem? Is your resolve wavering and you don't know how to tell her you would like more from the marriage?"

Edward hesitated, wary of painting Isabella in a light that might be perceived as negative.

"She wants more, too. The frustration is affecting us both."

Whitlock sat back. "Well, I'll be damned. The affection is mutual?"

"I wouldn't go quite that far." Edward pulled a face. "I know it's unfashionable, but I think there's something to be said for marrying a grown woman rather than a girl barely out of the schoolroom. Isabella has maturity on her side. She received the same stultifying advice your Maria was given, but she had enough wisdom to disregard it."

"Extraordinary." Whitlock shook his head, clearly impressed. "You are a blessed man to have a wife who is not afraid of passion."

Edward didn't disagree, his friend's complimentary tone assuaging his fear the other man would think ill of Isabella.

"She wants a baby, of course, but I _cannot_ risk losing her."

"I assume you know there are ways to prevent conception?" At Edward's fervent nod, a slow smile twitched Whitlock's moustache. "That is why you are here."

"I have heard of different methods, but I've no experience with their implementation. I hoped you might enlighten me as to what would be most suitable for my situation, that's _if_ I can get Isabella to agree."

"That's a big if. She is a vicar's daughter, not a camp whore wary of producing another mouth to feed. But first things first. Let's weigh your options."

One thing Edward had always appreciated about his senior officer was his practicality. Over the next half hour, Edward learned more than he had ever wanted to know about preventing conception. French letters, a barrier method, were expensive, not that cost was an issue. Unfortunately, they were also deucedly difficult to get hold of since they were predominantly manufactured in a country with which they were currently at war. They also sounded unpleasant. Made from the stomach lining of various animals, they required soaking in hot water prior to the act to gain the required pliability for use, somewhat of a passion killer, Edward imagined.

"Revolting things, really." Whitlock shuddered. "They minimise sensation, which takes half the fun out of it, but they do help avoid some of the nastier diseases."

"Disease is not an issue," Edward said, bemused by the unlikely nature of their conversation. "Is there anything less unsavoury?"

"I have heard some prostitutes insert a sea sponge soaked in vinegar. It is quite effective, apparently, but I imagine that would be a bit much to ask of one's virgin wife."

Edward rolled his eyes at the absurdity of the notion.

"What of herbs? Do you know of anything?"

"Not for prevention. I've heard there are concoctions—illegal of course—that can be administered after the event to prevent the pregnancy from proceeding. But I highly doubt your wife would be agreeable to such a notion, and there is considerable risk involved."

"Not an option." Edward shook his head.

"Then I fear you are left with the time-honoured method of withdrawal. You do know to what I am referring?"

Edward nodded, having overheard his men boasting of their exploits. "Is it fool-proof?"

"Depends on the fool." Whitlock shrugged. "I've heard of couples using it for spacing their children safely, but it is a matter of discipline. Mistakes can be made in the heat of the moment, but if one is well motivated . . ." He raised his eyebrows, but Edward was in no doubt as to his meaning.

Had there ever been a more motivated husband than the sixth Viscount Masen?

 **~P &P~**

 **In contrast to my usual chapters, this one started angsty and then ended on a hopeful note! Edward's fear that any son of his could end up experiencing what he went through was quite poignant, though I thought Isabella made some valid points, too. What did you think of Major Whitlock? He has his own sad tale it seems...as well as some interesting advice to impart. ;)**

 **Worth a review?**

 **xx Elise**


	25. Alternative

**Hello Everyone!**

 **Thanks so much for the well wishes and wonderful reviews. A special thank you to the lovely readers who review every chapter, even when you're catching up on a bunch of them. I am honoured that you would take the time. :)**

 **I'm sorry I wasn't able to post another chapter last night. Unfortunately, the stomach bug I was battling invited a shocker of a headache to the party, and my poor brain wasn't up to the task.**

 **xx Elise**

 **~P &P~**

 **Chapter 25**

 **Alternative**

Isabella's stomach lurched when she thought about facing Edward after their argument. They had drawn lines in the sand she feared would be difficult to cross. His fears were not unfounded, but the half-life of thwarted desire he had condemned them to was not one she could imagine enduring indefinitely. Unfortunately, the alternative, retreating behind walls of polite respectability, was even less appealing.

Turning her back on the view of the lake, Isabella re-entered her bedroom from the balcony where she had been standing. When she was informed Edward had ridden out, she had considered walking into town to visit her family. But they knew her too well and would easily pick up on her distress. Without being able to explain, she worried they would misinterpret its cause and think badly of her new husband.

If circumstances were different, Alice would have been her first choice for a confidant. But Isabella had no desire to admit her attempts had failed to convince Edward they should have a child. Ironically, if she _had_ been willing to ignore her conscience, she would probably get her wish. The limits of her husband's self-control would surely be breached at some point if she allowed them to continue on the path he had set. But she didn't want their engaging in amorous congress to be cause for regret.

"Foolish woman," she muttered, donning the pearl necklace Edward had given her during their betrothal. Her scruples had accomplished little more than estrangement from her husband and an even greater degree of frustration than she was already suffering.

Isabella forced a smile to her lips as her lady's maid entered the room.

"His Lordship asked if you would be joining him for dinner, my lady, and I took the liberty of answering in the affirmative," Angela said, her tone uncertain. "He asked after you . . . whether you might be unwell?"

"I was just a little tired this morning. I should have let my husband know there was nothing to worry about."

Isabella knew she didn't have to justify her actions to her maid, but she was still unaccustomed to dealing with servants, especially one she viewed more as a friend.

"Will I do?" she asked, turning this way and that to better view her sapphire gown in the floor-length mirror. As a married woman, and a viscountess, she was entitled to wear stronger colours and more sophisticated fabrics and designs, but this was the first time she had dressed so formally for dinner.

"You look lovely, my lady." Her maid deftly arranged a curl to nestle against the curve of her exposed shoulder. "His Lordship won't be able to resist you."

Isabella froze. Angela knew, of course, that Edward had not come to his wife's room since their wedding night, but she saw no malice in the French woman's expression. She would have to remind Edward to visit her again before too long or the servants would become suspicious. When he did so, however, Isabella would not attempt to seduce him. She had stated her case and refused to humiliate herself further.

"Did the viscount look well?" she asked. He had only recently returned to riding, and she worried he might have strained himself.

"Mr Houghton said His Lordship's limp was more noticeable when he returned late this afternoon. He arranged for his bath to be filled with extra hot water, and Corporal Markham called for another tub of Miss Brandon's special unguent."

Isabella sighed, in no doubt that Edward's leg had required massaging. She hoped he wasn't suffering too badly.

"His Lordship looked well when I saw him just now," Angela added. "A little impatient to see his wife, perhaps?"

The maid was correct in her assumption, as Edward was waiting for Isabella at the bottom of the stairs. She suspected he had been pacing, but he stood transfixed as she slowly descended. Uncertain how to proceed, Isabella waited for him to close the slight distance between them. She was relieved when he reached for her hand.

"I missed you," he said, surprising her with the admission . . . himself also, if his expression was anything to go by. "I mean I was told you mostly kept to your room today. Are you unwell?"

"I am fine, thank you." She smiled, hoping to let him know she wanted to lay their disagreement to rest. Edward was right—in his way. She _had_ agreed to a marriage of convenience, and she must find a way to make it work.

"Did you have a profitable day?" she asked, curious but not wanting to pry. It would take time for her to be sure of her place. Edward had been far more inclusive than she had expected, asking for and appearing to value her opinions and ideas. Still, she was wary of overstepping the mark.

"I had a _very_ profitable day," he said, linking their arms and escorting her to the small dining room he'd had converted for their use. The candlelit room now held an oval table that could comfortably seat ten, with a matching mahogany buffet. Deep burgundy walls contrasted well with the gold filigree trim and burgundy, navy blue, and gold Persian floor rugs, giving the room an opulent yet intimate feel. The fireplace, unlit at the moment, would add welcome warmth in the winter months.

Isabella was pleased to be seated at Edward's right rather than the opposite end of the table. She liked being close enough to see the light reflected in his eyes and the little lines that crinkled in the corners when he smiled.

"I gather Mr Whitlock has estate matters well in hand. Is his son feeling any better?" The retired major's young son was very poorly, but his father continued to place his trust in the visiting physicians who seemed intent on bleeding the lad dry.

"He is still opposed to consulting Miss Brandon where young Peter is concerned," Edward said with a shrug. "Doesn't trust the 'witchy professions,' I'm afraid."

"Pity," Isabella murmured. "The poor boy is so frail-looking and very small for his age. Alice might be able to help if his father could get past his prejudices."

"I agree." Edward took a sip of his wine. "I've sung her praises in regard to my own recovery, but Whitlock can be unmovable when his mind is made up."

 _Not unlike someone else I know_ , Isabella mused but kept her thoughts to herself.

The meal passed pleasantly enough, but the tension rose as it drew to a close.

"Would you like me to play for you this evening?" She gestured towards the home of her wonderful new pianoforte as they exited the dining room. "I discovered some old music scores in the library you might like to hear . . ." She faltered at his expression. It was dark and intense, and it stirred the desire that hummed just below the surface of her skin.

"Maybe another time," he said, steering her towards the stairs. "There's an important matter I wish to discuss with you, but it is of a somewhat delicate nature. I would prefer we retire to the privacy of our sitting room."

Isabella's curiosity was tempered with apprehension, as Edward escorted her to their retreat. Once inside, he motioned for her to take a seat before taking one opposite on a single seat rather than beside her. She waited as patiently as she could for him to begin, his hesitation increasing her sense of unease.

"Please, just tell me what's wrong." She wrung her hands when the silence dragged unbearably. "If it is about last night, I am sorry for my outburst."

He shook his head. "You have nothing to apologise for. You only spoke the truth."

"But you were correct. I _did_ agree to our marriage operating under certain constraints. It was not right for me to pressure you to act differently after the fact, especially not in a way that would contravene your conscience—"

"I may have found a compromise."

"Oh." Isabella sat back. "How so?"

For a long moment, Edward didn't respond, his jaw clenched tight.

"Edward, please. You can't make a statement like that and then not continue. It is unfair."

"Not much of our agreement is fair to you. No lady who wasn't forced into it would put up with such a situation."

Isabella's heart began to pound loudly in her ears. "I don't mind," she said, wary of his direction. She did not believe he would take such action lightly, but with the marriage still unconsummated, he _could_ request an annulment _._

"I wish I could give you what you want, children of your own, a family." He raised a hand to silence her when she would have responded. "Sadly, I cannot. But if you are willing to compromise, I do see a way for us to have at least a semblance of a normal marriage."

Isabella's mouth had gone dry, and she licked her lips before gesturing for him to proceed.

"It is obvious our passionate feelings for one another are mutual."

She blushed but did not deny his claim.

"In light of our shared attraction _,_ " he continued, "I would like you to consider an alternative proposal to the one I made before our wedding."

"Go on," she urged when he hesitated once more.

After taking a deep breath that expanded his chest and drew her attention to the breadth of his shoulders, he met her gaze head on.

"You might already be aware of what I am about to tell you through your association with Miss Brandon, as I suspect she would have access to such information through her training. Feel free to stop me if I am covering familiar ground."

Perplexed, Isabella nodded for him to continue.

"It is _possible_ for a couple to engage in marital relations without the wife becoming with child."

"Well, of course, it's possible," she blurted, relieved to have Edward say something to which she could finally respond. "There are any number of causes for infertility, but that is hardly relevant."

"It is relevant if there is a way for us to be intimate and for you _not_ to become with child."

Isabella's brow furrowed. "What are you saying? I have no more reason to believe I am infertile than you have . . . unless you were plagued with a terrible case of mumps as a boy, and I think you would have mentioned that already."

Groaning, Edward dropped his head into his hands. "That's not what I meant."

"Then you need to speak plainly, for I have no idea what it is you _are_ saying."

"I am saying there are ways to prevent conception from occurring." He looked up at her through his long, dark lashes. "If a man and woman take certain precautions, they can be intimate without risk of pregnancy."

Isabella contemplated his statement for a long moment before speaking, her words sounding as if they came from a distance. "You want to know if I would take such precautions."

"I realise under normal circumstances it would be reprehensible of me to ask." Edward reached to clasp her trembling fingers. "But if you would be willing for us to utilise certain _methods,_ we could engage in marital relations without risking conception, and therefore, your life."

Isabella slowly shook her head, bewildered he would suggest such a thing. "But preventing conception is a sin, Edward."

"So is knowingly and deliberately causing the death of one's spouse," he countered, though his tone was mild. "I would not be surprised if failure to consummate one's marriage falls into that category also. Please excuse my language, but I fear we are damned if we do and damned if we don't."

Isabella flinched and withdrew her hands. Her first thought was that his suggestion was morally, spiritually and, for all she knew, physically objectionable. But on second thought, she recalled overhearing whispered conversations intimating such practices existed. If Isabella's mother had lived, she might have had valuable advice to give her eldest daughter. Her pregnancies had occurred at least two years apart with no more after Tanya's birth even though she was still of childbearing age. But that was for the wise _spacing_ of a family, not to prevent conceiving altogether.

"What do you have in mind?" she asked in a tremulous voice.

"Nothing with which you would need to concern yourself, other than a willingness to support my intention."

" _You_ would take responsibility? How is that possible?"

It was Edward's turn to blush. "You understand the process of procreation?" He rubbed the back of his neck while waiting for her nod. "If the man, er, _husband,_ is careful, he can choose not to spill his seed inside his wife."

Isabella stared at her lap while she considered his meaning. Her next and far more serious concern was how Edward had come to such knowledge. After a long moment, she looked up. His face was contorted in a wince, as if he was prepared to receive a blow, and she couldn't help but think the worst.

"I take it you have experience with this method?" she asked in a small voice.

"Heavens, no! I have _no_ experience, Isabella. I never even kissed another woman before you."

"Oh," she murmured, the tears she had managed to hold at bay since their argument the night before pooling in her eyes. "I won't deny I am glad."

"Ah, Isabella." Edward took hold of her hand again and gently rubbed her knuckles. "I am sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

"You have done nothing to apologise for." She echoed his earlier words, dabbing a knuckle at her eyes. "Well, other than giving me quite a shock. You are serious about this undertaking?"

"It is a way for us to find some relief from our predicament."

"There would be no chance of a child?"

"Not if I am careful."

Isabella was no worse off than she had been before Edward's extraordinary proposal, but she couldn't help feeling sad. His finding a way for them to be intimate without the risk of her conceiving signalled the death of her faintly held hope of becoming a mother.

"No one must ever know," she said. "This would be far more damaging to my reputation than if it was discovered our marriage had not been consummated. That _might_ be excused in light of the curse, but my agreeing to engage in physical relations purely to assuage our . . . our . . ." She couldn't bring herself to say the word _lust_.

"I understand."

In terms of ignoring the advice she had been given by the ladies of Forkton, this particular course of action was truly scandalous. Far from pretending disdain, she had openly admitted to desiring her husband and was contemplating acting upon her feelings _not_ for the purpose of procreation.

"Are you sure you won't end up thinking badly of me?"

"Never." Edward knelt before her and placed his hands lovingly upon her shoulders. "You are my wife, and I am a blessed man indeed that you _want_ to be intimate with me."

"Then I agree," she whispered, hiding her face against his shoulder when he pulled her into his embrace.

Edward released a deep sigh. "You won't regret it. I promise."

 **~P &P~**

 **What a different world they lived in, with so many constraints! The world might be a bit messed up, but some things have definitely changed for the better. ;)**

 **xx Elise**


	26. Wondrous

**Hello Again!**

 **A lot of you are very concerned about the efficacy (or lack thereof!) of the withdrawal method for preventing conception and wondering if I'm aware of it's limitations. I mentioned this in last chapter's author note, but then I deleted it because I thought it might be TMI. But, rest assured, I am _very_ aware. I wasn't able to take the pill when I was young, and hubby and I thought we would rely on the rhythm method after our baby girl was born. Once we were confident we had the hang of it, we skipped using a condom just one time. Our lovely twin boys were born exactly 38 weeks later, which wasn't a tragedy, as we were hoping to expand our little family, but three in nappies was not ideal. **

**I do hope you enjoy this chapter. Our innocent young couple (because let's face it, 25 and 27 is pretty darned young in my book!) are about to take a big step in their relationship.**

 **xx Elise**

 **~P &P~**

 **Chapter 26**

 **Wondrous**

Half an hour later, Isabella had cause to question his assertion as her nerves got the better of her. It was difficult to believe she had been bold enough to wear a revealing gown on her wedding night, a testament to how determined she had been to convince her husband to lie with her. Six nights later, it was about to occur, but the agreement they had reached wasn't exactly what she'd had in mind.

Isabella's hand rose to rest on her belly as she mourned the child that would never grow within her womb. She could only hope satisfying her desire for her husband would be worth the compromise.

"Would you like me to stay with you until His Lordship arrives?" Her hovering maid's tone was solicitous, and Isabella suspected Angela had discerned at least part of the reason for her mistress' apprehension . . . that the marriage was yet to be consummated.

"There is no need for you to wait up."

It was still early, but with the decision made, there had seemed little point passing the rest of the evening in nervous anticipation.

"Very well, then." Angela curtsied, then added before she departed, "You look lovely with your hair down, and that gown is very becoming."

Isabella hoped Edward would be of a similar opinion. He seemed to like her hair, saying the lighter streaks reminded him of a jar of honey held up to the sunlight, an analogy that made her smile. She was wearing a different, more _modest,_ gown than the one she had worn on her wedding night, but one she thought quite lovely. The neckline was low, revealing a hint of décolletage, but otherwise, the white gown was sweet in design. With puffed sleeves, an embroidered bodice, and little satin-covered buttons that opened down the front, the soft fabric moulded to her figure, but not too closely.

She wasn't sure if Edward would release just enough buttons to allow him access to those parts of her anatomy that would need to be exposed or insist she remove the gown altogether. The thought made her shiver. She wasn't sure she was ready to appear naked before her husband, which seemed hypocritical considering she had already seen and touched his naked body while nursing him back to health.

It wasn't the same, she told herself, feeling a little ill at the thought of disrobing. Maybe her mentors had the right of it. Ladies weren't cut out for this sort of thing.

Panicked, Isabella considered unearthing the nightgown Lady Westcott had given her with specific instructions she was to wear it on her wedding night. Made from a very large quantity of a drape-like fabric, Isabella had privately mused that the gown could be used to construct a modest-sized marquee. It buttoned all the way up to the chin and tightly at her wrists.

"There are ribbons as well as the buttons," Lady Westcott had pointed out. "Make sure they are all tied in bows and then double knotted. You may have to get your maid to cut them off when you want to remove it, but it will be worth the effort. If you are not inclined to burn the gown the next day—I did mine—you can have her replace the ribbons for you. But it is better that than your husband too easily obtaining access to locations on your person that he has no right to be bothering."

"What about those places he does have a right to _bother_?" Isabella had asked out of curiosity.

"Where there's a will there's a way," the matron had muttered. "You must inform your husband he may lift your skirt just high enough and no further. The design is voluminous enough so you can quite easily keep your legs fully covered with fabric and ensure there is almost no direct skin contact, well, other than that which is distressingly necessary."

"Distressingly necessary," Isabella murmured, echoing Lady Westcott's words while she waited for her husband to arrive. It wasn't _necessary_ for them to be intimate at all, but she couldn't deny feeling distressed, and that was _before_ the event.

Whether Edward's feelings in any way matched the depth of her love for him was doubtful, but he had shown he cared for her in numerous ways. The knowledge bolstered her confidence a little.

Considering the turn their relationship was taking, she wondered if she should declare her feelings. The thought was terrifying. Appearing naked before him would leave her far less vulnerable than professing her love and it not being reciprocated. It would be better if she waited for him to tell her he loved her first, if he was so inclined. In the meantime, she would continue to show him by her deeds what lay hidden within her heart. At least if he never spoke the words, she would not have made herself quite as much a fool.

A knock sounded at the door, and Isabella startled.

"Come in." She croaked the words, and the door immediately opened. Edward was dressed in a loose robe over knee-length his nightshirt. Recalling the sight of him in an even greater state of undress, her fingers itched to open the buttons of his shirt, so she could glimpse his bare chest beneath.

The urge surprised her, and Isabella's confidence increased a notch.

Their passion for one another was mutual and nothing for which she needed to be ashamed, though that didn't mean she was completely without fear. But the realisation they were meeting as equals was comforting.

It helped that Edward looked every bit as nervous as she did.

He took a deep breath before removing his robe and laying it across the padded chair she'd had returned to the room. To her relief, he made no comment on its reappearance, though she was puzzled when she saw him place a small towel on the end of the bed. Before she could question him about it, he came to stand before her, the intensity of his gaze robbing her of breath.

"Your hair looks like silk." He caressed the loose curls with his fingers. "It is very beautiful, as are you."

For the second time that evening, Isabella almost swooned. If he kept saying things like that, her fears would soon evaporate.

"I thought you might prefer if I left it down."

"I do," he murmured against her ear before burrowing his face in the curve of her neck and breathing deeply. "I love your scent. Have I told you that?" Lifting his head, he raised a brow at her stunned expression.

He _loved_ something about her!

Summoning her courage, Isabella lifted her hands to rest against his stomach before sliding them upwards, mapping the planes of his chest over the soft cloth of his nightgown.

"I love your broad chest and shoulders," she admitted.

"Really?" He cocked his head to the left. "Even the scarred one?"

" _Especially_ the scarred one." She leaned in to place a gentle kiss to his upper arm then looked up at him through her lashes. "I wish you hadn't been injured in the first place, but it is what brought you home." _To me,_ she added in her thoughts.

"Home," Edward echoed, cupping her shoulders with his hands. "I always hated Masen Manor and never thought of it as home, but you have changed that for me, Isabella. I didn't like leaving you this morning and couldn't wait to return."

"I missed you, too, but I do agree your day away was profitable _._ " She smiled. "Although, I hesitate to think what sort of conversation you and Mr Whitlock engaged in to bring us to our current place of enlightenment."

"Yes, well . . ." Edward harrumphed. "It might be best if you put that out of your mind, as I fully intend to."

Isabella's smile faded at the thought of what they had given themselves permission to do. With a groan, Edward lowered his head and joined his mouth to hers. Their kiss began as a tender meeting of mouths and soon evolved into a searing conflagration. She opened her lips to him immediately, his taste eliciting a moan she did not attempt to contain. They had not missed even one night, but after their temporary estrangement, it felt like forever since he had kissed her with passion. As he wrapped his arms around her, one hand between her shoulder blades and the other dropping low on her back, he brought their bodies into complete alignment. With no space left between them, Isabella felt the shocking hardness of his erection pressed against her lower stomach.

She froze, her breath hitching in her throat.

While she understood a man's member became distended when he was aroused, the difference was more than she had expected. She had felt him before when she had straddled his lap the night of their wedding, and when they had lain together on the couch, but now that they were actually going through with this, he seemed bigger than she recalled.

"Sweetheart?" Edward broke the kiss to look into her eyes. "Don't be afraid. I promise I won't hurt you."

"I know, at least, I know you won't _mean_ to. You might not have much choice in the matter." Isabella was nothing if not pragmatic and imagined a certain degree of realism might be wise. "Can we take things slowly?"

"As slowly as you want, or need. We have all the time in the world."

"Not _all_ the time," she said wryly. "If we are going to do this, I would rather we got it done tonight. I fear waiting will only increase my apprehension."

Edward chuckled. The movement of their bodies rubbing together brought an altogether different hitch to Isabella's breath, and he wasted no time taking advantage.

The kisses that followed were different from the ones they had already shared. No longer torn by the knowledge Edward was going to call a halt, Isabella gave herself up to the sweet sensations. She loved how close they were, their mouths moving in harmony, changing direction as they kissed from first one angle and then the other. She loved the feel of their lips brushing together, touching, lingering, and tasting one another. Forcing her lids open, her passion-drugged senses revelled in the way his heat enveloped her. Their noses brushed, their cheeks nuzzled, and Isabella thought it very special indeed. When Edward's eyelids opened, she treasured what she saw in his dark, glittering gaze.

Desire . . . for her.

He began to move his hands over her body, seemingly everywhere at once. Well, _almost_ everywhere. There were places they had yet to visit that made her ache with longing. For now, his hands roamed her back, caressed her shoulders, and travelled down her spine. When he reached her hips, he shaped them with his hands before cupping her bottom and pulling her more firmly against him.

Edward's moans mingled with her soft cries. She hoped their enjoyment would continue to be mutual, and her dour mentors' words of warning that only the _gentleman_ received pleasure from marital congress were unfounded.

He grew bolder, his hands drifting upwards to brush against the sides of her cloth-covered breasts, and Isabella recalled her earlier temptation. With no need to resist, she began to open the buttons of Edward's nightshirt. When her fingers reached his bare skin, he broke the kiss and watched her smooth the shirt from his shoulders and down his arms. With a shrug he let it fall to the ground, leaving him bare to the waist, dressed only in his undergarments. She sighed with admiration at the sight of his naked torso.

He had gained weight since his recovery, and his muscles had become more defined. She trailed her hands over the dark hair that formed a triangle in the centre of his chest, but she wasn't brave enough to follow the path that led downwards.

"Do you like what you see?" Edward's question surprised her until she saw the uncertainty in his eyes.

"Very much," she whispered, leaning forward to plant soft kisses on his chest and shoulders, paying special attention to his battle scars.

Shuddering, he lowered his head to nuzzle the curve of her neck. Kissing in a line from her shoulder to a place just below her ear, he captured her attention in such a singular fashion she marvelled at the sensation his touch aroused. She tilted her head to give him greater access, as tingles of pleasure raced across her skin. Arching her back, she pressed her breasts against his chest. When he lifted his mouth from her neck, Isabella whimpered at the loss of his lips. But then she saw his gaze had focused on where they were pressed tightly together, her breasts spilling over the bodice of her gown. Placing his hands on her shoulders to steady her, he took a small step back, allowing just enough room between them to gain access to the buttons that ran down the front of her nightdress.

One by one, he released them, taking his time. His left hand was a hindrance but seemed intent on helping. As each small, satin-covered button popped free, her nightgown gaped open a little more, slowly revealing the inner curves of her breasts. A little alarmed by the hungry look in his eyes, she fought the urge to tell him to stop, that it was too much, too soon. When he had undone the buttons all the way to her waist, he moved to brush the material apart, but she stayed him with her hand.

"Wait, please?"

He raised his head to meet her gaze.

"Would you mind if we went over to the bed?" she asked.

"Of course." He led her with one hand while she clutched her gown closed with the other.

The room wasn't brightly lit, but he doused the extra candles, leaving only the soft glow of a lantern beside the bed.

"Better?"

She nodded, relieved he seemed to understand her reticence. Still, she wanted to explain. "It is just that this is the first time I've been naked before a man—"

"I should hope so," he said.

Isabella groaned. "Before my _husband_ ," she corrected. "I'm a little shy."

"Don't worry. I know exactly how you feel. I was mortified when I discovered you were an unwed lady, considering how much of _me_ you had seen."

"Oh, don't remind me." Isabella cringed. "I didn't mean to take advantage, and I promise I treated you with the utmost respect."

"I know." Edward's expression grew serious as he sat on the edge of the bed and drew her to stand between his parted knees. "I was mostly angry with myself, for I had allowed myself to fantasize about you, assuming you were safely out of my reach."

Isabella's jaw dropped. "You did? You _wanted_ me even then?"

"I wanted you when you were playing hymns in church, and I was half dead."

They both laughed, the sound fading when he drew her closer still.

"May I?" he whispered, raising his hands to the edges of her gown.

She nodded and then held her breath, as he parted the fabric to reveal her breasts. For a long moment he stared, unmoving.

"Isabella," he eventually whispered. "You are so very beautiful." His gaze rose to her face. "What did I ever do to deserve you?"

"You rescued me when I behaved foolishly and put my family at risk." She gave a little shrug.

"Not foolishly, bravely, selflessly. You saved my life, Isabella, in more ways than one. _You . . ._ rescued . . . _me._ " Edward punctuated his words with kisses to her lips, his hands circling her waist and drawing her closer until her breasts came in contact with his chest. Her head fell forward and rested against his shoulder as the sweetest sensations she had ever experienced swamped her senses. She'd had no idea being held by the man she loved, skin to skin, could feel so wonderful.

"Edward," she whispered, hugging his shoulders.

"My Bella," he replied, the first time he had used the shortened version of her name. No one called her that, except for her sisters occasionally, as it was too familiar. But she liked the sound of it coming from his lips.

After a long, delicious moment, he withdrew from nuzzling her neck. His eyes were dark, intent upon her face, as he climbed onto the bed. Capturing her hand, he brought her with him. The coverlet had already been removed, the blankets and sheets folded back, so there was nothing to hinder them. Once she was settled, Edward took a moment to retrieve the towel he had placed on the end of the bed and tuck it under a pillow. Isabella's eyes widened as she realised its purpose.

 _What a strange business this is_ , she mused, momentarily distracted. But then Edward lay on his side and drew her into his embrace. Her gown gaped open, but she resisted the urge to cover herself, as he pillowed her head on his arm.

"Are you cold? I could pull the blankets over us."

She was tempted to accept his offer, but not for that reason.

"I'm not cold." She tentatively stroked his chest, suppressing a surge of guilt. The freedom to caress him would take time to come to terms with.

"You are not going to change your mind, are you?" she asked, meeting his gaze.

"Definitely not. I'm sorry for treating you so badly before. Believe me, I was equally tormented."

He stroked her back, and she relaxed in his arms, enjoying the closeness and the intimacy. In time, the desire for more overrode her insecurity. As if sensing her need, Edward kissed her softly and brought his hand between them. She held very still while he parted her gown and then carefully, gently, cupped one of her breasts.

Isabella's eyelids fluttered closed as Edward's lips claimed her mouth. He stroked her breast with his fingers, squeezing and caressing until she was lost in a world of pleasure. Minutes passed before he broke the kiss and trailed his lips along her jaw and down the side of her neck. He paused to nibble along her collarbone, and she murmured her encouragement,

The many times she had bathed herself or brushed her fingers against the places he was touching with his mouth and hands had never felt like this. She had not even realised such feelings were possible. As if he sensed her wonderment, Edward lifted his head and looked into her eyes. The hand that had been mapping the curve of her breasts trailed along her sensitised skin. As Isabella shivered in response to the strokes of his finger, he studied her intently.

"What are you thinking?" he asked.

"That this, that _you,_ are wonderful."

"I was thinking the same thing." He pulled his arm from beneath her neck. "Would you like to lie back?"

She smiled at the eagerness of his expression before considering what would come next, and her nervousness returned in a flurry of rapid heartbeats. Once she was settled upon the pillow, she watched Edward warily. Her gaze followed his hand as he reached all the way down to her ankles and slid his fingers beneath the hem of her gown. Slowly and deliberately, he pushed the material up her legs and over her knees until it bunched around the tops of her thighs. She watched his eyes widen as he saw her legs for the first time.

Even if she had not seen him naked before, Isabella had at least had the opportunity to admire the shape of his limbs in his tight-fitting breeches. Her legs could have been tree stumps for all he knew, so well were they covered by her petticoats and skirts. More exposed than she had ever been in her life, she plucked at the sheet as she wondered what he thought of her. She rued her decision not to have him pull the covers over them, until he whispered in a voice filled with awe. "You are astonishingly lovely."

Her sob of relief caught his attention, that and her exposed breasts, and his gaze travelled slowly over her body. When he reached her face, he encountered her worried expression.

"Don't be afraid." He leaned down to kiss her lips.

"I just don't want to disappoint you," she said. "I have never done this before, and I am worried I won't know what to do."

"Neither have I," he reminded her as he moved over her. Holding his weight up on his good arm, he positioned himself between her legs. "I don't think it's all that complicated, and we seem to be doing fine."

Isabella wriggled a little, widening her legs so Edward's body fit more comfortably in the cradle of her hips. "You're right," she said, riding a seesaw of fear and desire. "Men and women have been doing this since the beginning of time. It can't be _that_ difficult."

"And we both agree it feels wonderful." He let his weight rest on her a little, so his chest brushed against her breasts.

"Yes, wonderful." Isabella sighed, as their mouths met.

Edward rocked his hips forward as they kissed, and she focused on the feel of his length and hardness pressing against her. He was right where he needed to be, with just a few layers of cloth separating them. Liquid warmth coiled inside her, and she wondered if she should worry about the dampness she felt between her thighs. Hoping it was all part of the mystery, she kept silent. When Edward reached between them to lower his undergarments, she helped by tugging her gown out of the way. Their eyes met as he positioned himself at the entrance to her body, his fingers lightly brushing against her sensitive flesh.

"Are you ready?" he asked, his voice a hoarse rasp.

"I _think_ so." She nodded. "Is there anything I should do to help?"

His smile was laced with passion as he whispered, "You are adorable. Do you know that?"

No one had ever described Isabella as _adorable_ before, but before she had a chance to respond, she felt him slowly pushing forward.

There was pressure, and tightness, and she didn't think it was going to work.

"Trust me?" he asked, his touch gentle where he stroked his fingers against her thigh.

She nodded, and he urged her to widen her legs. Then he moved forward, _i_ _nside her_. A sharp, pinching sensation caused her breath to hitch, and Edward froze.

"I'm fine." Bringing her hands up to his shoulders, she urged him onward. They had come too far to stop now.

It hurt as he pushed further, stretching and even burning a little. Her breath came in quick pants, as her body attempted to accommodate this most intimate of invasions. Twice more he hesitated in response to her winces, until he could go no deeper. Then he held very still.

"I am hurting you."

Isabella shook her head in denial, then acknowledged the pain with the shrug of one shoulder. "A little. Can you give me a moment to adjust?"

"Take as long as you need." He lowered his forehead to rest against hers. "I don't want to hurt you. It doesn't seem fair. The feeling of being inside you is so wondrous, I can't even begin to describe it."

His words were a balm, and she felt her muscles slowly relax. As the tension left her body, the pain dissipated and an altogether different sensation began to take its place. She reached around to his back and soothed his tautly held muscles with gentle strokes. In response, Edward let a little more of his weight rest against her, the action rocking their bodies together where they were joined.

Isabella gasped in surprise at the pleasure that radiated out from where they were connected. She moved restlessly beneath him, and he raised his head to study her face. Taking his cue from her tender smile, Edward slowly withdrew before pushing forward again. The second penetration was less painful than the first. With the third stroke of his body, it grew easier still. By the fourth and fifth times, the pain was replaced by a growing pleasure that captured her attention.

Driven by instinct, Isabella raised her knees and hugged Edward's hips with her thighs. The action opened her body further, allowing him deeper and making it easier still. They both moaned at the increased sensation the position afforded them. While his lips nuzzled her neck, he established a pattern of slow, steady strokes. Her hands roamed boldly, lower and lower down Edward's back until she reached his hips. She gripped them tightly and gave in to the urge to rock her own hips in counterpoint to his. Losing his timing, he lifted his head to gaze at her with slumberous eyes. "Don't stop," he said when she hesitated, and they found the rhythm together.

It was all so new and awe-inspiring. The feel of Edward's skin was warm and smooth beneath her hands where she stroked his back, rougher from its dusting of hair where his chest brushed against her breasts. Isabella hugged him close, feeling the pressure building inside her with every surge of his body. When he pushed deep, her insides clenched, releasing a burst of the most intense pleasure she had ever experienced. With her eyes closed, she focused her attention on the fleeting sensation, wanting to feel it again.

Eager, searching, Isabella held tight as Edward thrust harder and quicker inside her. She felt as if she was climbing to a great height, the journey a revelation of sensation and desire. Cries escaped her lips as he drove deep, her body pulsing with pleasure. Arching her back, she sought more of the same, much more _._ But just when she thought it—whatever _it_ might be—was about to happen, Edward groaned. A tremor rippled through him, and he withdrew from her body with a suddenness that left her reeling. She felt him grab for the towel he had tucked beneath the pillow as he continued to shudder and shake in her arms. Even with him holding the soft cloth between them, she could feel him pulse against her thigh.

"Isabella," he groaned and buried his face against her neck. His other arm held her so tightly she could barely breathe, but it didn't matter. Breathing was a nonessential in that moment. Her husband had joined his body to hers. A strange and intimate mixture of pleasure and pain, the experience had the potential to be truly extraordinary, she hoped. The agitation she had felt when he'd called a halt to their kisses was _nothing_ to her current degree of frustration, her body humming with an almost unbearable tension.

As for the ache in her heart, Isabella understood why Edward had chosen to deny her his seed. He sought to protect her. But as his grip on her relaxed and he collapsed against her side, she was unable to stifle a sob.

 **~P &P~**

 **So, what do you think? It ended on a slightly sad note, but the chances of her climaxing the first time when they are both, almost entirely clueless virgins, was slim. I thought, all things considered, that they did pretty well. As to the issue of her possibly becoming pregnant, his reaction, and whether or not they can break the curse . . .**

 **Until tomorrow,**

 **xx Elise**


	27. Recovery

**Thank you so much for your sweet, insightful, and often funny words of support. This chapter is only short, but it gave me quite a chuckle. I hope it does you, too. :)**

 **xx Elise**

 **~P &P~**

 **Chapter 27**

 **Recovery**

Isabella woke with a start. Edward had promised to stay, but she was alone in the bed. Bereft at his absence, she curled on her side, intent on hugging her pillow, until she saw the note on her bedside table. At least he hadn't left without an explanation this time.

Reaching for Edward's missive, she was pleased to observe she wasn't overly sore. In fact, she felt no worse than after spending a day scrubbing laundry or beating rugs. Of course, the location of her tenderness was not customary, and a smile curved her lips at the memory of what had caused her discomfort. There was something very satisfying about knowing she was no longer a maiden but a married woman in every sense of the word.

After opening the folded sheet of parchment, Isabella settled back on her pillow to read her husband's note.

 _My Darling Isabella,_ he began, and her smile widened. There was nothing equivocal about his greeting.

 _I am sorry for not being there when you awake, but I am an early riser and feared my restlessness would disturb you. Please, take as long as you need to recover. I have instructed your maid to bring you breakfast in bed and to have a hot bath prepared for when you are ready. I do hope it is beneficial and brings you some relief from your discomfort._

 _I sincerely apologise for the distress I have caused you as a result of my less-than-considerate behaviour. Your generosity puts my boorish actions to shame. My hope is that, in time, you will be able to forgive me._

 _Your devoted husband,_

 _Edward._

Isabella reread the letter several times, but was no less bemused by its contents.

Forgive him? What did Edward think he had done to her?

It hadn't been that bad, even if the moments following the consummation of their marriage had been rather awkward. He had apologised for his abrupt withdrawal, concerned he must have hurt her.

"I am fine," she had assured him, considering her body's tenderness a more-than-acceptable price to pay for the consummation of their marriage. Once the initial pain had subsided, she had found their coupling extraordinarily pleasant. The sweet but fleeting sensations she had experienced when he was moving deep inside her had been enchanting, raising questions she was eager to have answered. Isabella hoped her husband's altogether unnecessary self-castigation would not deprive her of the opportunity for further discovery _._

Breakfast in bed was an indulgence she could quite easily become accustomed to, although sharing the first meal of the day with Edward was still preferable. Rising when her bath was ready, she caught sight of a reddish stain on the sheet and her face turned crimson.

"Is it time for your courses, my lady?" Angela asked, and Isabella jerkily shook her head. "Oh, I see," the maid added with a knowing look.

Isabella sighed. If there had been any doubt as to the state of the viscount's marriage, this would put it to rest. The news would be all over the village by nightfall. Angela might not speak of it, but the laundress surely would, with everyone from the lowest scullery maid to the butler being apprised of Edward's and her intimate business. The benefits of having a retinue of servants could sometimes be outweighed by the appalling lack of privacy.

"Are you _well,_ my lady?" Angela asked, her tone filled with compassion.

Isabella squared her shoulders. "Perfectly, though I imagine a nice hot bath will be welcome."

"I'm sure it will." Angela nodded, her expression turning wary. "You are not _afraid_?"

"Afraid?"

"Of becoming with child to His Lordship."

"Not at all," Isabella said. "The Masen Curse is broken. My husband and I have nothing to fear."

After luxuriating in her bath for much longer than she typically allowed, Isabella took a long look at her reflection. Angela was very skilled at styling hair and, combined with _another_ lovely new gown, Isabella was pleased to note she looked quite presentable. That her change in status and experience were not more evident in her appearance was a little surprising, although she did imagine there was something different about her smile.

She had thought to find Edward in his study, but a passing footman informed her the viscount was in the library. Pausing in the doorway to one of her favourite rooms in the manor, she observed her husband for a moment. Seated by a sunlit window, he was intent on study, his head bent over a book. Releasing a sigh, she admired the way his dark locks and sun-burnished skin contrasted with his snowy white cravat, his broad shoulders flattered by the well-cut jacket.

Isabella's stomach fluttered. Her husband was a handsome man, scars and all.

She approached quietly and waited until she was close to draw attention to her presence. While she hoped the activities they had engaged in the previous night would increase their sense of familiarity, in reality she imagined things could be quite awkward between them at first.

"Edward?" She spoke softly, but he leaped from his chair, slammed shut the book he was reading, and spun to face her.

"Isabella!" His surprise bordered on alarm, and she took a step back.

"I am sorry. I didn't mean to disturb you." She frowned, not knowing what to make of his reaction. "I can leave if you'd prefer."

"No!" He strode towards her and captured her elbow, ushering her back the way she had come. "We will both leave . . . the library . . . together."

"Are you sure?" She looked back over her shoulder to the pile of books he had left scattered across the table. "I am quite capable of amusing myself if you want to keep doing whatever it is you were doing."

"I am finished," he muttered, not slowing their pace even once they were in the wide, picture-lined hallway. Isabella almost had to run to keep up, surprised that Edward's leg could afford him such speed.

"Where are we going?" she asked when he led her down a side corridor and then out into the garden. "I don't have my bonnet."

"We won't be in the sun for long." He spared her a glance and then thankfully slowed to a more respectable pace. "There is somewhere I've been meaning to show you, somewhere we can talk without being disturbed."

Isabella thought any one of the drawing rooms, or the library for that matter, would have sufficed—all they would have had to do was close the door—but Edward seemed intent on his destination. When they reached the vine-covered bower that overlooked the lake, all but hidden in a grove of willows, she appreciated his choice of location.

"This is lovely," she said from beneath the shady overhang, not that Edward gave her time to take in the view.

"Be honest with me." He turned her to face him, his hands gripping her shoulders. "How bad is the pain?"

Isabella's eyes widened. Her husband seemed to be operating under the assumption he had caused her a terrible trauma.

"I am fine," she insisted before adding, "other than being dragged from the house and halfway across the garden without a by your leave."

With a groan, he clapped a hand to his forehead. "Idiot. Not you, me," he clarified at her startled look. "I wasn't thinking. Should you even be up and about? God, you must think me despicable. I am so sorry."

"Edward, enough." Isabella placed a hand on his chest to add weight to her words. "There is absolutely nothing for you to fret about or apologise for. I am _perfectly_ well. My level of discomfort from our activities of last night is inconsequential."

"Oh." His shoulders sagged. "You are certain?"

"Positive." She nodded, hoping to reassure him with a smile.

"But you _were_ in pain." His scowl darkened. "You cried."

Isabella sighed. In the aftermath of their lovemaking, a sudden fear he would leave combined with her disappointment over his withdrawal had caused unwelcome tears to spring to her eyes.

"Only briefly. I admit our coupling was a little painful in the beginning, which I gather is to be expected. But after the initial discomfort, it was very pleasant _._ "

He drew his eyebrows into a frown. "Then why the tears?"

Deciding that nothing but the truth would placate him, she reluctantly made her admission. "Because I was saddened by the knowledge consummating our marriage could not lead to a child."

Releasing her shoulders, Edward took a step back. "Isabella—"

"It's all right," she said before he could continue. "You believe the risk is unacceptable, and this is the only way for us to have a real marriage. I am not disputing your assessment. I am not _agreeing_ with it either. I am just explaining why I became emotional."

"A woman deprived of the chance for motherhood is certainly entitled," he muttered bitterly.

"I understand. Really, I do." She clasped his arm when he would have turned away. "You have found a compromise, and I am glad. Last night was lovely."

"You're not just saying that?"

"Not at all. I'm just sorry I spoiled it for you by acting missish."

"No, sweetheart." He bent down to capture her gaze when she dropped her head. "You didn't spoil it."

"Was it everything you thought it would be?"

"Everything and more." He stroked her cheek. "Although I hope it will be better for you the next time."

Isabella hoped so, too, though she was mostly relieved there was going to be a "next time."

"One should take time to recover, of course," Edward added almost sternly.

"Of course," Isabella agreed before her curiosity overcame her sense of decorum. She knew so little about the process and was eager to learn. "How long is required?" she asked, and then blushed at the forward nature of her query. "I mean, how long before you are recovered?"

Disappointingly, Edward cursed, a rather pithy epithet. Isabella had hoped he was overcoming the tendency, as his behaviour in that regard had been exemplary since their betrothal.

"I wasn't speaking of _my_ recovery, but yours," he said.

"Oh." She hadn't meant to offend him. "Because I am . . . _was . . ._ a virgin?"

"Precisely. Your body needs time to heal."

"Whereas _your_ body?"

"Has no such need," he said dryly. "I am a man in my prime. Believe me, I require little recovery time."

"Well, that is good to know." Isabella decided if she didn't deal with his misconception head-on, he would drag this out indefinitely. "Because I can assure you I am not the fragile flower you seem to think me. While I imagine a certain degree of _gentleness_ might be wise, I am perfectly recovered from the loss of my virginity and ready to accommodate you whenever you desire."

Rendering her husband speechless was a rather enjoyable exercise. When his shocked expression was overtaken by one of blatant desire, she was glad she had not made a grand exit after delivering her response. One moment she was standing in the middle of the floral-covered enclosure, engaged in what could almost be described as risqué repartee. The next, she was in her husband's arms, pressed against a timber post and being thoroughly ravished. Well, passionately kissed _._ They were in a somewhat public place, and she trusted Edward not to let things get _too_ out of hand.

His caresses were quite bold, however, his hands roaming freely up and down her sides and over her hips. When he pressed his lower body against hers, she was left with no doubt as to his opinion of her provocative statement, or his ability to perform when required. Isabella's arms wrapped around her husband seemingly of their own accord. Her fingers tangled in his hair, and she strained against him, desperate to ease the ache that had resurfaced at his very welcome assault. Forgetting all about their surrounds, Isabella whimpered in dismay when he slowed the frantic nature of their kisses.

"Shh . . ." he murmured against her mouth, mollifying her with soft caresses to her lips and along the line of her jaw. When she discerned he was intent on reaching the hallowed ground beneath her ear, she gave herself up to his attentions. A shudder ran through her when he kissed the sensitive skin, his moan of pleasure vibrating against her neck. Unsteady on her feet, she clutched helplessly at his arms when he eventually drew away.

Edward looked as reluctant as Isabella felt about returning to sanity, his eyes more black than green and his breath coming in harsh pants.

"Does this mean you believe me when I say I am recovered?" Her query was bold, but she had no intention of being left in a painful state of limbo.

"I'm ready whenever you are, my dearest Bella," he said in a husky voice she found quite becoming. "Though I fear we shall have to wait until tonight, unless we intend scandalising the servants."

Isabella contemplated how much damage would be done to their reputations if they were to make straight for her room and remain there for the rest of the day. "Tonight, then." She sighed, wondering how they were supposed to last an entire day.

 **~P &P~**

 **A bit short but it didn't end on a sad note, so I'd say that's a win! (I'm posting these chapters as they were written for the book where length and cliffhangers weren't an issue.)**

 **Many of you hoped he would unearth those naughty books in the library. Who else is looking forward to discovering what he learned?**

 **xx Elise**


	28. Extraordinary

**Hello Again Lovely People!**

 **I'm glad last chapter gave you a chuckle. This one may necessitate you fanning yourself vigorously. It is told from Edward's POV, and let me tell you, he is a man on a mission. ;)**

 **xx Elise**

 **~P &P~**

 **Chapter 28**

 **Wonderful**

Edward paced, waiting for the clock to strike the half hour. He'd never known minutes to pass so slowly. In fact, the hours since his encounter with Isabella in the garden until they were finally able to retire for the night were some of the longest in his life. They had been sweet in their torment, he admitted, a smile curving his lips. Every glance, every seemingly accidental touch, had increased his desire until anticipation for what was to come throbbed in his veins. Not that his wife had behaved in a manner that could be deemed unacceptable. To the casual observer, they had both maintained an exemplary degree of propriety. Merely knowing what they planned to do when night fell had increased the tension between them to a level that was almost unbearable.

Edward still could not believe his good fortune in finding such a wife. Never in his wildest dreams had he expected to be so blessed.

Should he tell her that he loved her?

Coming out and saying the words seemed fraught with danger. He feared if she understood the thrall in which he was held, she might use that knowledge to sway him into giving her the one thing he dared not . . . a child. His heart ached knowing he could not give her the babe she craved, but he refused to allow himself the indulgence of picturing her with his child in her arms. Such an image could well precede her tragic departure, and he shied away from the possibility at all costs.

The clock chimed, followed in quick succession by his knock at her door and Isabella's calmly spoken, "Enter."

Once again, she was waiting for him, this time dressed in a gown somewhat more chaste than either of the two delectable creations she had chosen before. The fact did not discourage him, for he now knew what lay beneath the soft, billowy fabric, and what was required of him.

The morning spent studying his father's no doubt illegal collection of erotic books had been less informative than he would have preferred. His initial response to the graphic illustrations he had discovered in one of the tomes was shocked disbelief. The explanations were in some form of oriental script, but the explicit images left little to the imagination, depicting a seemingly endless variety of sexual positions and techniques. In contrast, the titillating stories he had found written in English were cloaked in so much euphemism and allegory they had left him almost none the wiser and close to panic. Until he had stopped to consider his purpose.

He wanted to bring pleasure to his wife.

Reminded of his goal, he had focused his attention on gleaning as much as he could about the delicate nature of female arousal and satisfaction. Isabella was a lady, and he doubted her tender, if practical, sensibilities would appreciate the more callisthenic possibilities. But she was also a woman unafraid of her passionate nature, for which he would be forever grateful.

After his morning's study, Edward was reasonably confident he now possessed the knowledge to ensure their next bout of lovemaking was as satisfying for his wife as he knew it would be for him. At least he hoped that was the case. She had assured him she did not need an extended recovery time and wasn't worried about his hurting her. But he would make sure to be both gentle and persistent in his endeavours. From what he had read, he suspected patience was key, as was showing deliberate and prolonged attention to certain aspects of her anatomy, aspects with which he was already well and truly enamoured.

"Good evening, my lord," Isabella said, teasing him with a curtsy.

"My lady." Edward offered his most formal bow, made incongruous by the fact he was dressed in his nightshirt.

The distance between them was unacceptable, and Edward rid them of it immediately. He opened his arms, and Isabella came willingly into his embrace, her head fitting perfectly beneath his chin. With her warm and supple body in his arms, a part of him could have stayed that way all night, just holding her. However, a very specific part of his anatomy had different ideas and was intent on making its presence known.

"Goodness." Isabella pulled back a fraction. "That happens rather quickly. Does it hurt?"

Edward laughed. "Not in the way you mean, although ignoring it for extended periods of time can be a trial."

"I imagine it could be." Leaning back, she looked up into his eyes, her voice dropping to a husky whisper. "It must be a relief not having to ignore your body's needs any longer."

"You have no idea," he murmured before capturing her soft, pink lips. They were such a delight, as was the rest of her. He had not expected to so thoroughly enjoy the act of kissing. If that was all they were permitted—and if the unrequited passion that such activity provoked did not possess the capacity to send him completely insane—he would have been content to kiss his wife for hour after endless hour. But he was allowed to do more, much more, and more importantly, she was eager for him to do so.

In demonstration of her willingness, Isabella ran her hands over his chest and shoulders, even the scarred one to which she seemed quite partial. He shivered at her touch, his smile undeniably smug when she smoothed her hands up his taut belly.

His wife desired him, and it was the most capitol feeling in the world, bar one.

Edward's determination for her to experience the pleasure with him was greater than anything he had ever known. Not even winning on the battlefield had consumed him with quite such intensity, though he imagined his wife might not be flattered by the comparison. When she leaned in close and let her lips brush against his skin, continuing to press her hips firmly and deliberately forward, his thoughts spun into disarray. Realising he was in danger of forgetting his goal of seeing her fully satisfied before the night was out, he refocused his attention. While he supposed he could accomplish the task he had set himself _after_ taking his own pleasure, he was determined to show he could be chivalrous in every area of their lives.

His initial objective was to convince her to trust him even more than she had the night before, the first step in that process motivating his request. After taking a moment to nuzzle her neck, something she seemed to appreciate as much as he did, he whispered against her ear. "I know it's unorthodox, but I would very much like to divest you of your nightgown, if you wouldn't mind?"

Isabella froze, much as he had expected her to. Then she pulled back to meet his gaze.

"It did get in the way last time," she said, but when he moved to unlace her bodice, she stilled his hand with her own. "On one condition." She licked her lips, leaving a glistening trail of moisture coating her plump, lower lip.

"Anything," he said hoarsely.

"That you remove your clothing also."

Edward was more than willing to be naked with his wife, but not above a smidgen of teasing.

"But you've already seen me without my clothes. Numerous times, I might add."

"Not like this."

Isabella eyes darkened, and he stifled his smirk of satisfaction.

"Very well." He pulled his nightshirt over his head then reached for the ties on his undergarments.

"Wait." She took a step backwards with her hand outstretched.

Her sudden apprehension was palpable, and he deemed the time for games was over.

"Shall I douse the extra lights first?" he asked.

She nodded jerkily.

As soon as he had done so, he collected her from where she remained frozen in the middle of the room and led her to the bed. The covers were pulled down, and he debated his next move. He could wait until the sheets were drawn over them to completely undress, but he very much wanted to see her in the light if she would allow it. As if sensing his indecision, Isabella touched his shoulder.

"I'm all right now," she said. "It was just a momentary panic. You saw most of me last night anyway, and I would very much like to see all of you, so . . ."

Slowly and deliberately, she raised her hands to undo the tie that held her bodice closed. Once it was loosened, she lifted a trembling hand to slide the sleeves from her shoulders.

"Let me," he half-pleaded, half-ordered, relieved when she complied. "Your skin is so soft," he whispered as his large and much darker hands smoothed the fabric over her shoulders, revealing more and more of her cream-coloured flesh.

The swell of her breasts kept the gown from falling, but before he could dislodge it, Isabella took a deep breath. With a deliberate lift of her shoulders, she let the gown fall all the way to the floor. Standing completely naked before him, she dropped her gaze, her body shivering, though he doubted it was from the cold. He knew he should reassure her immediately, but he was rendered both speechless and immobile by the stunning sight before him.

Edward was aware his wife's curves were well rounded, her breasts full, and her hips those of a woman not a girl. He had felt her in his arms the night before and caught glimpses beneath the shadowed canopy of their bed. But the sight of her standing before him in the candlelight was breath-taking. Her skin was smooth and pale, her nipples a dusky rose that caused his palms to itch with a desire to touch and his mouth to salivate with a hunger to taste. The indent of her waist appeared made for his hands to caress, the shadow of her navel for his delectation. Even the curve of her belly seemed designed to emphasise her femininity.

His gaze travelled lower until he reached the soft curls at the juncture of her thighs. A shade darker than her hair, they covered what he knew to be an amazing treasure, and he could do naught but marvel that she was his.

"You are gorgeous," he whispered, reaching to run his hand down the length of her arm. "Feel what you do to me." He captured her fingers and placed them over his thundering heart. It was hardly the most visible effect she had upon him, but he didn't want to appear crass by drawing her attention to the more obvious change in his physiology.

Isabella was not so easily offended, and her gaze lowered to the rather prominent evidence of his arousal.

"That, too," he acknowledged with a shrug.

His belly tensed when her hands traced the planes and ridges of muscle down his torso. She followed the line of dark hair to where it disappeared in the waistband of his undergarments. With trembling fingers, she undid the drawstring that held them in place before gently pushing the material past his hips.

Unsurprisingly, they got stuck. Not waiting to see what she would do about the problem, he tucked his thumbs under the soft fabric and pushed his undergarments the rest of the way before kicking them off with his feet. When he straightened, her mouth was agape, and it took all of Edward's resolve not to cover himself.

"Well . . ." Her gaze flickered between his highly aroused member and his worried expression. "That's an impressive change in dimension. If I'd had any idea it could grow so large, I would have been far less confident about our achieving a successful outcome."

"And you wonder why I was worried about your well-being."

"Quite." Isabella nodded before taking a deep breath. He imagined it was to calm herself, but the rise and fall of her breasts had the opposite effect on him. Before he knew his intention, he drew her into his embrace, the feel of her naked body moulded to his utterly sublime.

"It will be all right. We _were_ successful, and you said it wasn't too painful, that it even became quite pleasant. Don't succumb to fear now."

"I won't," she murmured against his chest. "Especially not with you holding me so close. I never expected the feel of our bodies touching would be so . . . so . . ."

"Extraordinary?" he supplied, and she sighed, her breath teasing his skin.

"Most extraordinary." She wriggled in his embrace, the movement causing her breasts and belly to rub against him.

Recognising his mistake, Edward wondered how he was supposed to see to her pleasure when he was a hair's breadth from losing control.

"Isabella. I think . . ." He held her away from him and shook his head to clear it. "I think it might be wise if we lie on the bed."

"As you wish." Her smile was shy but knowing, and he was pleased to see a return of her confidence, even if it came at his expense. The price was one he was happy to pay.

With minimal awkwardness considering their inexperience, they climbed onto the bed and lay down in one another's arms. Edward lay on his left side, which caused his shoulder to pain, but he needed access to his more dexterous right hand for what he had planned.

For long moments, he gave himself up to the pleasure of kissing his wife. He adored her mouth, drawing the plump lower lip between his own and gently suckling before trading places with the Cupid's bow upper. All the while, she graced him with the same attention, their mouths moving together in harmony. His enjoyment was so great, his thoughts were quickly reduced to solitary words.

Soft. Warm. Perfect.

The recesses of her mouth were a treasure trove of taste and sensation. From gentle brushes and soft caresses to a hungry devouring, he couldn't seem to get enough of kissing her. At the same time, his hands roamed her body with increasing boldness. They smoothed and stroked her back and over the curve of her hips before squeezing her bottom. Her legs moved restlessly, allowing him opportunity to insert his thigh in the space between. He knew now where best to apply pressure, or so he hoped, and was rewarded with the sound of her whimper as he rocked against her. After gently stroking the length of her thigh, he caught hold of her knee and drew it over his hip, increasing the intimacy.

Feeling her heat, Edward's head swam, and he struggled to maintain some semblance of control. Focusing on _her_ pleasure, though knowing it would increase his torment exponentially, he cupped one of her breasts, delighting in the bounty he had been given. After rubbing his thumb gently over the already erect nipple and feeling it harden further at his touch, he could barely contain his desire to discover her taste.

Isabella's gasp gave him confidence that she might welcome such an endeavour, outlandish though it might be. When she arched her back, pushing against both his hand and thigh, he decided permission had been granted. After trailing his lips along her jaw, he brushed them down the side of her neck, stopping only to nibble along her collarbone before continuing to the swell of her breast. She stilled, her attention no doubt focused on his destination. When he hesitated, she tangled her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, urging him onward.

Edward needed no further encouragement.

With soft kisses, he reverently mapped the curve of her breast before allowing himself a taste of her nipple. Isabella's soft whimper became a cry of what he hoped was pleasure when he ran his tongue over the tight bud. She arched beneath him, her grip on his hair tightening as if she feared he would pull away. Never more eager to oblige her, he drew the entire bud into his mouth and suckled. Her response was everything he had hoped, though it took him a moment to register as he was somewhat overwhelmed by the assault on his senses.

Fortunately, his new favourite activity, besides kissing her mouth, and joining their bodies, was one that seemed to please his wife very well. Applying all diligence to his task, he continued until she was whimpering and writhing beneath him. Recalling that she had two such destinations, he trailed his mouth across the valley between her breasts to shower her other nipple with equal attention.

"Oh, Edward," she whispered in between making the most sensual mewling sounds he had ever heard and _never_ imagined would be made in response to his touch.

Knowing his weakened left arm wouldn't take the weight of his body indefinitely, he trailed the fingers of his right hand across her belly. When he reached her soft curls, she tensed, her hand dropping to his arm in caution. Lifting his head, he took in her slumberous but now slightly worried gaze.

"It's all right, sweetheart," he said. "Trust me. I want to try and make it more than just pleasant."

After a moment's hesitation, where he could practically see her weighing his words in her mind, she nodded. Her breath came in short pants, and her gaze followed the path of his fingers as he delved into the folds hidden beneath her curls. For a few minutes, he indulged himself with stroking softly, entranced by her delicate texture. He had touched her only fleetingly the night before, but from memory, she seemed a little swollen. His hope was the more aroused she became before he penetrated her, the less discomfort she would suffer.

Renewed in his purpose, he found the place that was apparently the source of a woman's fulfilment, that was if he had interpreted the euphemisms accurately. _If_ his newly gained understanding of female anatomy was correct, Edward questioned the design. The sensitive bud didn't seem to be in the most ideal location. But any doubts he had over the validity of the information were banished at Isabella's response to his gentle touch.

She shuddered, and her head fell back.

"Don't stop," she begged when he hesitated, alerting him to the fact his work was not yet done.

He was more than content to continue. The only problem was the feel of her soft flesh sliding beneath his fingers, and the sound of her cries, were driving him perilously close to the edge.

Edward wanted to be inside his wife when she found her release, but he wasn't sure it would be wise. Torn with indecision, he continued to caress her sensitive juncture with his right hand while rising up on his knees. Once in position, he was able to stroke her astonishingly beautiful breasts with his left hand, clumsy though it might be. Unable to resist the temptation, he moved to kneel between her thighs. While continuing to stroke her, he urged her knees further apart, aligned their bodies, and pressed forward. There was much less resistance than the first time, but he hesitated when her eyes fluttered open.

"Am I hurting you?"

"A little, but please, don't stop."

"Does it feel good?" He needed the reassurance, and the focus, as his own body was flooded with exquisite sensation.

"Oh, yes." She sighed, her hips rising to meet his.

Once Edward was inside her, he took a moment to catch his breath and strengthen his resolve. Moving gently in and out, he established a steady rhythm, all the while continuing to tease her with his fingers. The position was a little awkward, but the flush that stole across her skin was more than worth the effort. Mesmerised by the sight, his groans echoed her soft cries. When her velvety walls began to pulse, he suspected she was close to experiencing the bliss she had given him.

The pressure, and the pleasure, were almost too intense, but he held fast to his mission. After not too many more minutes, her breath hitched, and she arched beneath him, the most glorious cry erupting from her lips.

If Edward had been in any doubt as to what was occurring, the deep rhythmic contractions that squeezed him tightly laid them to rest. Shock waves of pleasure traversed his spine, pooling in his groin and warning him his own climax was imminent. With Isabella gripping his hips tightly with her knees, he wondered how he could pull out without hurting her.

"Isabella," he cried when he could wait no longer and knew he must withdraw. To his relief, she let him go, cuddling into his side and murmuring his name while he shuddered and groaned with his own release.

 **~P &P~**

 **Phew! Is it hot in here?**

 **I know some of you are, understandably, a little dubious of Edward's rather remarkable staying power, considering his relative youth and inexperience. But it is a writer's prerogative to assign her character's specific strengths and weaknesses, and I chose not to include premature ejaculation in the already long list of obstacles they have to overcome.**

 **You are very welcome. ;)**

 **xx Elise**


	29. Wanton

**I didn't think I'd ever get this chapter uploaded! (Silly ffn!)  
**

 **You guys had me in stitches with your reviews. I lost count of the number of 'Well done, Edward!' and 'Oh, aren't they doing well?' comments, which I totally agree with. We're like doting mothers smiling beatifically at our beloved offspring's achievements. As you can see from this chapter title, they're not quite ready to stop playing with their new toys...each other! ;)**

 **xx Elise**

 **~P &P~**

 **Chapter 29**

 **Wanton**

"Does it feel the same for you, to _reach your peak_?" Isabella whispered into the night-shadowed room, the phrase as new to her as the sensations the astonishing event inspired.

Wrapped tightly as she was in Edward's arms, his quiet laughter shook them both.

"I guess so, if indescribable bliss comes to mind."

"It does." Isabella sighed, enjoying the feel of their bodies pressed close together, limbs entwined. "It's just a pity we both had to wait so many years to experience something so wondrous."

His body tensed at her words, and she rose up on one elbow to look down at him.

"You said you had not lain with anyone before."

"I promise, I have not." He stroked her arm. "It is just that, well, I think a man's body works a little differently than a woman's. I've never been one to indulge excessively, but occasionally a man must find release from the, er, buildup of pressure. It is a natural occurrence," he added, sounding defensive.

"Oh, I see," Isabella murmured when she grasped his meaning. "You can accomplish the same result whilst alone. Does it feel as good?"

"Nowhere near." He nuzzled her cheek.

"Well, I'm glad." She lay back down and snuggled into his embrace. "I would hate to be made redundant."

"That will _never_ happen." Edward kissed her soundly, and she wondered if he might be planning to prove the veracity of his vow then and there. But after arousing her senses until a pleasurable hum warmed her body, he encouraged her to roll over and wrapped himself around her from behind.

"Sleep, sweetheart," he murmured against her ear. "This is all still new to you, and you need your rest."

She wasn't used to being cosseted, and a protest sprang to her lips, but Edward silenced her with a yawn. He'd had a tiring day, having spent hours in the saddle riding over the estate with Major Whitlock. Her answering yawn was welcome, as was the languor that stole all tension from her body as she slipped into the most comfortable of slumbers.

~P&P~

Isabella woke to the feel of her husband's lips nuzzling at her neck, his hand at her breast, and the insistent pressure of his arousal against her hip. She had never slept nude before, but being woken in such a manner enlightened her to the benefits.

"Edward?" she asked drowsily.

"None other." He chuckled.

"What are you doing?"

"Paying amorous attention to my beautiful wife, as long as you're not too tired or too sore?"

"I am perfectly fine," she said while contemplating his continued insistence she was beautiful _._ It was clearly a falsehood, but whenever she called him on it, he just smiled and said, "eye of the beholder" before muttering something about the local gentlemen being idiots. It seemed wrong to allow Edward to continue in his delusion she was anything other than ordinary, but it was hardly in her best interest to convince him otherwise.

She could only imagine he must see something in her no one else did. He had certainly uncovered hidden depths she had not been aware of. In return, Isabella hoped her company was equally beneficial, that perhaps she could convince him he wasn't nearly as beastly as he thought himself. Edward was self-conscious about his scars, but they didn't bother her in the least. She thought him very handsome, _more_ so the longer they were together. He was not at all fierce or forbidding, regardless of what others might think of him.

"You are sure you don't need me to leave you alone this morning?" He lifted his head and captured her sleepy gaze.

"I am sure." She wriggled a little, pressing against him. "Don't leave or stop. I want you to continue."

"Good."

He nipped at her shoulder before grazing his teeth along the sensitive curve of her neck, and Isabella modified her assessment. He could be a _little_ fierce.

Stretching like a cat, a habit of hers when she first awoke, felt altogether different with her husband's naked body draped around her. The feel of his warm, smooth skin sliding silkily over hers brought memories of the night before flooding back. Overcome by the most blissful sensations, she had arched her back in a similar fashion at the culmination of their intimate endeavours. Her suspicion the pleasure caused by Edward's kisses and caresses was a prelude to something more had proved correct, but when it occurred, the experience had been awe-inspiring.

"Hold on a minute. Did you say morning?"

His words had taken a moment to register, and when they did, Isabella lifted her head. She was surprised to see slivers of sunlight peeking through the gaps in the curtains as her husband's increasingly bold caresses brought her more fully awake.

Edward's response was to abandon his place nibbling upon her ear. Her pout curved into a smile when he trailed kisses down her chest towards where his fingers were expertly teasing her nipple . . . until she recalled why the time of day mattered. It wasn't that she minded his attentions, not in the least, but she feared they could be brought to a sudden and embarrassing halt.

"The servants, Edward. Someone could enter and see us."

His response was to reach for the blanket and draw it over their heads.

"I don't think that will fool them for long," she murmured.

"I agree." He raised his head, so the blanket fell backwards, and she could see his smirk. "But it will teach them to come in without knocking first, and they won't get an eyeful of anything they shouldn't."

Isabella giggled, and Edward feigned indignation at her mirth.

"Are you laughing at me, wife?" He captured her wrists and stretched her arms above her head, pinning her in place. He wasn't protecting her from his weight like he usually did, and her lungs had very little room to move.

"I wouldn't dream of it," she said breathlessly before adding, "my lord and master."

"Lord and master?" He raised a brow. "I like the sound of that."

He rolled over and took her with him until she lay stretched full-length atop his body.

"Oh!" She looked down at him, intrigued by the position. "Like this?"

"Like this." His expression turned rueful. "My blasted arm can't take the weight after last night, and I'm worried my leg will cramp up. I might need you to do the work this morning, if you wouldn't mind?"

The insecurity in his expression was touching, and Isabella stroked his cheek. "I would be honoured, though you will need to tutor me, as I can't quite picture how it will work."

"Oh, it will work." Edward drew her down, so he could nuzzle her neck while his hands roamed her body. "I guarantee it."

A sound caught Isabella's attention, and her whimper of pleasure became a squeal of alarm when she glanced up to see her lady's maid staring at them in shock.

"I'm so sorry." Angela dipped a curtsy then spun so her back was to the bed. "I heard a noise and assumed you were awake, my lady. Which you are. But you're not alone. Which is perfectly acceptable, as you're with your husband, and I'll be going now."

"Wait," Edward called while Isabella hid her face against his chest. "Can you alert the cook that we would like breakfast in bed in an hour?"

"Of course, my lord."

"And Angela," Edward added, prompting Isabella to consider pinching him for carrying on a conversation with her lady's maid at such a time. The blanket had fallen partway off so only their lower halves were covered. "Could you inform the staff that, in future, my wife and I will ring the bell when we need assistance?"

"Certainly, my lord." The maid's subdued reply was followed by the sound of the door closing.

"Can one die of embarrassment?" Isabella lifted her head to meet her husband's bemused gaze. "Why aren't you bothered? The entire household, no, the entire _village_ will be discussing our antics by noon."

"What can they say? That the sixth Viscount Masen is an exceedingly fortunate fellow? I don't think I've ever been accused of that before."

" _You_ may be considered fortunate." Isabella rolled her eyes at his smug expression. "But I shall be considered thoroughly wanton."

"Wanton?" Edward waggled his brows. "I like the sound of that."

"Incorrigible man," she muttered, secretly pleased. He seemed younger, lighter, and Isabella was proud to have induced such a transformation. It made her wonder if there were any noticeable changes in her own mien. Sadly, she was not as confident as Edward that others would view any differences in a positive light.

When his hands began a thorough examination of her body, she forced her concerns aside. The damage was done. She might as well enjoy the activity in which everyone would assume they were engaged, though she couldn't help but cringe at the thought.

"What is it?" Edward reached to smooth the crease from between her brows. "I don't really think you are wanton if that's what you're worried about. I think you are exceptional."

Isabella's heart warmed, and she kissed him soundly before admitting, "I just feel uncomfortable with everyone knowing what we're doing. You told her we wouldn't want breakfast for an hour, Edward. An _hour_. It's scandalous."

"Why?" He brushed a lock of hair from her forehead and tucked it behind her ear. "We could be talking." He ran his hands all the way down her back, over her bottom, stopping to give it a gentle squeeze, and then along her thighs. "Planning our day." He caught hold of her knees and drew her legs to rest alongside his hips. "Discussing the weather." He ran his hands up her sides while lifting his head to capture her mouth.

"But we are not. We are being intimate," she whispered against his lips.

"We certainly are."

Isabella was still a little astounded their bodies fit together so well. As the feel of him rubbing against her caused desire to coil and tighten within her, she was unable to resist the inclination to rock against him. Edward didn't seem to mind, and she decided being wanton wasn't such a bad thing . . . if one could call her that. She was a married woman, and it was her duty to try to please her husband. That she found pleasure in the process could be seen as an added bonus, or so she justified. Somehow, she doubted the matrons and dowagers of Masen would agree.

Not wanting to think about her repressive mentors at such a time, Isabella focused her attention on being the best wife she could possibly be from _Edward's_ perspective. Rising to a sitting position, she was pleased to find herself effectively astride her husband, the position holding great promise. She smiled down at him, and Edward reached up to cup her breasts with his hands. He weighed their fullness, giving them a gentle squeeze, and she arched against him.

A little shocked by her behaviour, the scolding voice of her conscience, remarkably similar to Lady Brandon's in tone, dictated she should cover her nakedness. But Isabella refused to give in to the bullying thoughts and brushed her hair over her shoulders. The action left her even more exposed, but she was determined not to succumb to shyness or allow the inhibiting dictates of others to affect how she acted in her marriage bed.

Edward smiled his appreciation and reached to caress her face.

"You are so lovely," he murmured, and the knowledge he admired her physical form was flattering indeed. What was even more astonishing was the bliss his touch created in her body and the freedom they were discovering with each other after such a brief experience with intimacy.

If Edward hadn't rescued her from spinsterhood, Isabella could have passed her entire life unaware such mysteries existed. The same could have been said if she possessed a more timid disposition. Slavishly obeying the strictures imposed on young brides by their female superiors would have just as effectively denied her the joys of marriage, ruining them for her husband also. Both anger and sadness sparked within her, but she put the feelings aside, not wanting to spoil the present by thoughts of what _might_ have been.

When Edward's right hand left her breast to trail down her belly, she focused on his intentions. His fingers found that surprising place hidden in her curls, a place she had been virtually ignorant of until the night before. She shivered in expectation. Tilting her body to give him better access, she moaned with pleasure as tingles raced across her skin.

For long moments, Isabella savoured her husband's ministrations. Wanting to bring him pleasure, she rubbed her hands over his chest and shoulders, watching for his response. His dark eyes studied her from beneath hooded lids, and his chest rose and fell with his quickened breaths, letting her know her efforts were appreciated.

Capturing her lower lip between her teeth, Isabella contemplated her next move—as best she was able considering the sensual onslaught to which she was being subjected.

Dare she be so bold?

"May I?" she asked, trailing her hands lower, and then lower, as she waited for his permission. He withdrew his hand from between her thighs, and his Adam's apple bobbed, as she sat back to release his member from between their bodies. It twitched, rising up to meet her fingers, but she did not flinch away. While exotic in appearance, it was an integral part of him, and she was both intrigued and aroused by the sight. She reached hesitantly and gave it a gentle stroke, then pulled back when she discovered the skin covering his member was velvet soft.

"Like this." He wrapped his hand around hers and showed her what to do, stroking from base to sculpted tip several times. When he released her hand, she repeated the action, squeezing firmly as he had demonstrated until he groaned and arched beneath her on the bed.

"Enough," he said before long, stilling her hand. "Lift up a little, sweetheart." She rose up on her knees, and he positioned himself beneath her then urged her to lower herself onto him with his hands at her hips. Sliding down in incremental movements as her flesh gave way to his penetration was an experience in sensual pleasure Isabella would never forget. Once she was seated with him deep inside her, she took a moment to savour the sensation of fullness.

"My God, that feels amazing." Edward's reverentially uttered words echoed her thoughts.

"Now what?" She had a fair idea what was required but needed reassurance.

"Now _you_ get to ride _me,_ " he whispered.

Isabella gasped at his shocking words. Refusing to allow her courage to desert her, she tentatively obliged. Pushing off with her knees, she rose up and then lowered herself with her husband _inside_ her. After a few more repetitions she agreed that making love this way could, indeed, be likened to riding a horse. In fact, she would never view posting to the trot the same way again. As she found her rhythm, the benefits of the position became apparent. Just leaning her body this way or that meant she could change the angle to put pressure exactly where she wanted. Not that she forgot Edward's involvement for a moment. Fortunately, it did not appear that pleasing her husband while being thoroughly pleased herself would be overly difficult. The look in his eyes supported her belief that success was guaranteed.

"Come here," he whispered after she had ridden him for a long and lovely while, raising and lowering herself upon his length with increasing confidence. Obediently, Isabella lay upon his chest, lowering her head until their mouths met. With his hands at her hips, they found a new rhythm together.

"Do you need me to help you?" he whispered when a few more moments had passed, and Isabella sought his gaze. "Like this," he added, sliding his hand between them. She raised her brows in understanding and lifted up a little, so he could more easily caress her sensitive flesh.

"Maybe just a little." The soft slide of his fingers combined with the feel of him moving inside her, and the wondrous sensations circulating her body increased in intensity. Before long, she neared the precipice he had brought her to the night before, her soft cries filling the air. After giving him one last searing kiss, she sat up again. Guiding his free hand, she raised it to her breast and arched into his caresses.

Such brazenness would have been beyond Isabella's comprehension just twenty-four hours prior, but after what they had shared, it seemed only natural to show Edward what she needed. Like a spring tightly coiled and held, the tension built inside her, rising higher and higher until it burst free, releasing a torrent of pure pleasure. As her body trembled, Isabella continued to move above him, hoping to repay her husband with even a fraction of the joy he was giving her. With his jaw clenched and the skin pulled tight across his cheekbones, she might have thought he was in pain. But his groans let her know otherwise, amplifying her pleasure.

Although Isabella knew it was coming, it was still something of a shock when Edward lifted her off and pulled her down to lay on top of him, but not before he quickly placed a small towel between them to protect her from his seed. Sprawled across her husband's shuddering body, with tremors of pleasure continuing to flutter deep within her own, Isabella couldn't help wondering what it would feel like to have him find his release inside her. One thought led to another, but she shied away from images of her belly rounded with Edward's child, refusing to allow this magical time to be spoiled by regret.

~P&P~

 **These two** _are_ **doing well, a heck of a lot better than hubby and I did in the beginning! Mind you, it was a lot of fun learning and experimenting, and practice does make perfect. ;) I can't help wondering if it is easier for young couples nowadays with google and everything else at their fingertips, or does that just put them under more pressure?**

 **For those of you wondering what's happened to the plot, it will make a reappearance again shortly, I promise.**

 **xx Elise**


	30. Satisfying

**Hello you saucy bunch! Forget plot, all you lot want is for them to stay in bed all day (or christen every room in the manor) and scandalise the servants! Seriously though, I'm glad you enjoyed this interlude as much as Edward and Bella clearly are. The reviews dropped right off for this chapter, which gave me quite the chuckle, as I could picture many of you feeling far too languid to bother. ;)**

 **xx Elise**

 **~P &P~**

 **Chapter 30**

 **Satisfying**

There was something rather daunting about waiting in bed for their breakfast to be served, knowing the staff was aware of what their master and mistress had been up to. Even gowned, robed, and buttoned to her neck, Isabella felt exposed.

"Try not to let it bother you," Edward said, placing his arm around her shoulder. "From what I recall of living with a large staff, the mood of the master . . . and _mistress_ "—he emphasised his words with a kiss to her forehead—"filters down through the ranks."

"You are predicting a happy household, then?"

"A _very_ happy household." His voice dropped to a sultry growl that sent shivers down her spine. "I can't imagine a more enjoyable way to start the day. Do you think you might be willing to repeat the exercise?"

"There's no time, is there?" Isabella glanced at the door, half expecting the footmen to burst through at any moment with their breakfast.

"I didn't mean _today._ " Edward chuckled before releasing her when they were, indeed, interrupted by a knock. Isabella endured the intrusion with stoicism, but there was little she could do to cool her blazing cheeks.

"Breakfast in bed is overrated," she muttered when they were finally left in peace. "In future, I suggest we arrange for breakfast to be served in the dining room an hour _later_ than has been our habit. Everyone will still know what we are up to, but I imagine I shall cope better facing the staff dressed in something other than my nightgown."

"You wouldn't mind being woken in a similar fashion on _other_ mornings?"

"Not at all." Isabella's blush returned.

"You are gorgeous," Edward whispered, almost upending their trays when he sealed his words with a kiss. "I don't mean _every_ day, of course. Only on those occasions when you are so inclined."

Isabella expected to be inclined quite often.

She was surprised to discover the balance of power was in her favour when it came to their intimate relations, with Edward deferring to her needs and preferences. Fortunately, more often than not they were of one accord. While their days continued to follow a similar path of shared company and congenial conversation, they chose by mutual agreement to retire as early in the night as could be deemed respectable.

Isabella had assumed all such endeavours would be steeped in seriousness, but she was pleased to discover laughter could be shared amidst the passion. Her husband's sheer inventiveness gave her cause for amazement, as she'd had no idea there were so many ways in which one could engage in congress, marital or otherwise. Some of their attempts were more successful than others, Edward's physical limitations needing to be taken into consideration. But Isabella was more than willing to experiment "in the cause of being a dutiful wife," she informed him with mock solemnity. His teasing response, which was to pin her to the bed and kiss her senseless, inspired her to reveal the truth. She was willing because she wanted Edward as much as he wanted her.

"I have no wish for you to do anything you do not feel right about," he insisted. "The last thing I want is for you to agree to something you are not comfortable with in an attempt to please me."

"I won't," she assured him, all too eager to discover whatever this wonderful new world of sensuality could offer. "As long as you don't come to think badly of me for behaving in such a manner."

"Never." He caressed her cheek with his hand. "I think you are the best wife a man could ever wish for, and I respect and desire you in equal measure."

Isabella smiled, finding his words, and the experiences they shared, both extremely satisfying.

"Heavens, that was delightful," she said one evening after a particularly creative and amorous episode. They lay sprawled across the bed, Edward's body spooning her from behind. "I wouldn't mind trying that again some time."

"You can count me in." Edward rocked against her.

Isabella laughed. "Well, I wasn't planning on attempting it with anybody else."

Growling, he rolled them so she was pinned beneath him. "I should think not." His tone and expression were rebuking, but the sparkle in his eyes revealed his true feelings. "It was rather exceptional, wasn't it?" he added smugly. "There are a couple of other things I would like to try sometime, if you are willing?"

Isabella's willingness was not in question, although her husband seemed convinced she would soon lose interest despite all evidence to the contrary. She conceded that once they were no longer cocooned from the demands of daily life, fatigue and time constraints would invariably impact the frequency of their endeavours. In the meantime, ample opportunity to rest and recuperate, combined with Edward's diligence in making certain she experienced the most blissful satisfaction whenever they were intimate, encouraged her compliance. If she had been left tense and wanting like the first time, rejecting his advances to save herself from sheer frustration would have become inevitable. Since that was not the case, she was more than happy to oblige the husband she secretly adored.

Isabella was yet to tell Edward she loved him. Sometimes it seemed foolish not to come out and say the words, considering how readily she expressed her affection for him in other ways. But a niggling fear remained that he would not welcome her declaration.

"Gentlemen of the _ton_ , especially those of the upper ranks, despise clinginess," Lady Brandon had instructed in the days before Isabella wed. Lady Westcott had reiterated the dire warning with much grimacing and shuddering. "One must _never_ make sentimental avowals of affection unless one desires to be an object of scorn and ridicule by both one's husband and society in general. If one does succumb to the imprudence of attachment"—the comment was accompanied by the disdainful rolling of the grand lady's eyes—"then one must hide one's weakness in the sure knowledge that the affectation will soon pass. There is absolutely no place for love in a noble marriage."

Neither was there place for passion, pleasure, or even friendship, apparently, but Isabella had found all three. Since she had ignored the rest of her mentors' advice, she considered ignoring this piece also . . . but she hesitated.

It would be so much easier if Edward would say the words first. In their place, he showered her with kindness and compliments. Fully informed as to how dismal and downright lonely her marriage was _supposed_ to be, and as long as she didn't consider her barren womb, Isabella felt she had very little about which to complain.

~P&P~

The newlyweds' first foray into society as a married couple was with Isabella's family, a gentle introduction. She had missed them terribly on the odd occasion she had stopped to think about them. After two weeks of welcome seclusion she looked forward to their coming to dinner.

"You look well, my dear." Her father greeted her with a kiss to her cheek, a question evident in his raised brow.

"I am very well, thank you, Papa," she said, her smile shy but genuine. It faded as a wave of self-consciousness overcame her. Her father knew. He was fully aware of the activities she had been engaged in with her husband. A disturbing image flashed through her mind, and she shuddered. Of course, she understood her parents must have behaved similarly, but she had never envisioned it before. One thought led to another, and soon sadness welled inside her. Blinking back tears, she perceived the depth of her father's loss in a new light.

"Is something amiss?" Edward murmured close to her ear as they followed their guests down the long hallway to the dining room.

"It just struck me how awful it must have been for my father to lose my mother," she said, covering Edward's hand where it lay upon her arm. "When I think of all the years he has had to spend without her . . ."

"Which is why I have no intention of risking you," he murmured.

Unlike previous occasions when he had made such comments, she did not take umbrage. For the first time, she asked herself if she would not act the same way were the tables turned and Edward's life was the one potentially at risk. When he reached to cup her cheek, she leaned into his caress.

"Neither of us is going anywhere," he said, his dark-eyed gaze as intense as the feelings crowding her.

At the sound of her father clearing his throat, Isabella startled. She had forgotten all about their audience, but when she would have drawn back, Edward did the unthinkable and put his arm around her shoulder.

"Sorry to keep you." He sounded far from apologetic, and Isabella blushed crimson. Tanya's mouth was agape and Rosalie's expression bemused, but when she glanced at her father, his look was indulgent . . . pleased even. Relieved by his lack of censure, Isabella managed a wan smile.

"Edward!" she whispered as they entered the dining room. "You must know it is not appropriate to display affection in public."

"They are not _public,_ they are your family." He shrugged. "If we can't be ourselves around them, when can we?"

 _In the privacy of our bedchamber when the door is locked against prying servants_ , Isabella mused. She agreed with him, to an extent, and was relieved to discover he welcomed her family's society so readily. Still, there were clearly defined limits to socially acceptable behaviour he appeared all too happy to ignore. Fortunately, their faux pas did not negatively affect the evening, and the conversation flowed easily.

"I shall have to introduce you to Wilberforce and his cohort when next we meet," Edward said to Rosalie after a spirited discussion regarding the lack of options available to unwed mothers. Through Rosalie's volunteer work at the orphanage in Thornlie, she had encountered more than her fair share of young women forced into dangerous and disreputable occupations in their quest for survival. Isabella had worried her sister's passionate opinions might offend her husband, but not only was Edward receptive to Rosalie's views, he appeared keen to endorse the charitable ventures she was eager to implement.

He had no trouble finding mutual topics of interest with Isabella's father, as both men were committed to seeing the Masen District improved. Even Tanya was soon enamoured of Isabella's surprisingly charming husband, who managed to regale her youngest sister with enough tales of adventure from his time on the continent to ensure her rapt attention.

"Oh, Isabella, he is quite marvellous," Tanya said when the three sisters withdrew to the adjoining drawing room, leaving Edward and their father to indulge themselves with a small glass of port. "And the way he looks at you . . . heavens! You said the attachment wasn't mutual, but that's not true at all. Why didn't you tell us it was a love match?"

Isabella gulped. "A love match? You mustn't go spouting such nonsense, Tanya."

"I wouldn't call it nonsense," Rosalie said. "A blind man could tell you are in love with your husband, and he with you."

Isabella considered her newfound propensity to blush an inconvenience, especially in response to a provocative statement made by one of her own, much younger, sisters. There were times since her marriage that, rather than feeling matronly as she should, her physical reactions seemed more in keeping with those of a giddy girl caught up in her first infatuation. It would not be so bad if Isabella had behaved in a skittish fashion when she was young, but it had not been in her nature then and seemed incongruous now.

"What _I_ want to know," Rosalie continued, "is what went on when you were up here nursing him . . . all alone . . . for days on end?"

"Don't be silly, Rosalie. Our Isabella would never do anything remotely scandalous," Tanya said. "She's far too proper and upright for that. Aren't you, Bella?"

For once, Isabella wasn't quick to agree or happy to be so designated. Tanya seemed to think her too timid for adventure and too stuffy for passion. While she had no desire to corrupt her youngest sibling, she nevertheless found herself admitting to a few minor truths.

"If you must know, Edward held my hand at every opportunity while I was nursing him," she said before admitting, "I think he was afraid of dying alone."

"That is sweet . . . and sad." Tanya came to sit beside the sister who had been more mother than sibling to her the past several years. "There's nothing improper about his needing the reassurance of your touch under the circumstances."

"Does letting him kiss me after accepting his betrothal count as improper?" Isabella couldn't resist asking, knowing the answer full well. She was surprised by how much she enjoyed the looks of shock that appeared on her sisters' faces and wondered what mischief had overtaken her.

"I _knew_ it. Yours is a love match." Rosalie's grin faded when Isabella's expression fell. "Am I wrong?"

"Not on my part." Isabella was desperate to share her news but wary of the consequences. "I love my husband dearly, but you must _promise_ you won't tell a soul."

Rosalie frowned. "Why ever not?"

"Because it's considered common by the _ton_ ,"Tanya said, confirming Isabella's fears. "Love is dreadfully unfashionable and to be avoided at all costs. Even liking is frowned upon. Cynthia Brandon told me all about it, as did Margaret Westcott. They're both set on making the most advantageous marriage available with affection not even factoring into the equation. They say a husband's age, appearance, and even disposition are irrelevant, as long as he is wealthy and highly positioned."

"So speak their mothers," Isabella muttered. A smile curved her lips when she considered she had somehow managed to win the trifecta, her husband being highly placed, exceedingly wealthy, and exceptionally personable.

"How lucky are you, Isabella, to have found a husband whom you find agreeable." Tanya said, echoing Isabella's thoughts. "I imagine it would be better if your tender feelings were reciprocated, even if you must keep them hidden from public view."

"I don't think there's any fear of her feelings _not_ being reciprocated." Rosalie's tone was dry but a smile played at the corner of her mouth. "Edward seems very taken with you, Bella. We all saw him practically embrace you when you entered the dining room, and he was hanging on your every word over dinner."

"Oh, piffle." Isabella waved a hand in dismissal, though she was secretly hopeful. That Edward desired her she was in no doubt, but she knew too little of how a gentleman's affections operated to be certain love necessarily accompanied passion. It was enough, for now, to know he enjoyed her society and admired her physical attributes.

"What about us?" Tanya gestured between herself and Rosalie. "Now that we are practically heiresses with a prominent lord for a brother-in-law, are we expected to marry some stuffy old baron with one foot in the grave? I may as well have settled for the despicable Mr Hunter if that's the case."

"Not at all." Isabella sighed at her sister's penchant for melodrama. "My hopes for you are the same as they have always been. That you find gentlemen of high standing, whom you respect and care for, and who will care for you in return."

"What of love?" Rosalie asked. "It doesn't seem to be doing you any harm. I have never seen you look so radiant _._ "

Unable to suppress her smile, Isabella admitted shyly, "I highly recommend it."

"What exactly are you recommending?" Edward asked, and she lurched to her feet. He had entered with her father through the doorway behind her, and she feared she and her sisters might have been overheard. Noting Edward's ingenuous expression, she willed her racing heart to slow.

"Our sister was recommending marriage to a wealthy, handsome viscount with an active social conscience, but I fear she has found the only one in all the empire," Rosalie said with a smile.

Isabella shot her a grateful look.

"I _have_ oft been accused of being one of a kind, though I do believe marriage to your sister has changed the nature of the appellation. I am exceedingly fortunate to have found her." Edward captured Isabella's hand and raised it to his lips. "As for my being handsome, Reverend Swan, I fear your daughters are suffering from a visual impairment. Battle-scarred and fearsome is closer to the truth."

"That description might have fit you at one point, dear brother-in-law," Tanya said, and Isabella tensed at her sister's teasing tone. "But married life suits you so admirably, your countenance is now more in keeping with a sleek and self-satisfied cat. What _I'd_ like to know is what's put that smile on your face?"

Edward's cheeks took on a rosy hue, and the vicar required a glass of water to overcome a sudden coughing fit. It was only through sheer determination that Isabella managed to suppress a bout of hysterical laughter.

"What? What did I say?" Tanya asked, her question going unanswered.

"I want a full accounting at some point in the not-too-distant future," Rosalie whispered to Isabella as the girls were donning their coats. "Married life clearly suits you both, and I would like to know why. The tales I've heard from older girls at the orphanage are all horror stories, and the information I've been able to glean about one's marital duties are too ridiculous to be believed. Neither make any mention of the possibility for such happiness, _not_ for a lady."

Isabella considered Rosalie's request before nodding. If she could help her sisters to find even a fraction of the joy and contentment she was discovering with Edward, then it behoved her to do so. She had heard it said knowledge was power, and what could be more powerful for a woman than a happy, satisfying marriage?

~P&P~

 **I would like to point out that I realise this sentiment is somewhat outdated for the current times. While I am exceedingly grateful to have the experience of a good marriage, I am also aware that it is not essential for a woman's happiness. Until fairly recently in history, a woman's options were far more limited, almost non-existent, so a supportive, loving husband would have been a godsend.**

 **Having said that, I think Isabella, despite feeling like a giddy girl, is becoming a wise woman and will have some valuable insights to impart.**

 **Thank you for reading, and big hugs for those who take the time to review. :)**

 **xx Elise**


	31. Indisposed

**Thank you for all your kind words. I'm glad the daily updates are bringing smiles to so many faces...mine included, even if it's a bit more work than I expected.**

 **I have some exciting news. I put out a request on facebook to see if anyone would be interested in helping me with the covers I need so I can self-publish the original version of this, and my other, stories. I was inundated with help and suggestions (our fandom is such an awesome place), and the lovely banner maker and professional book cover creator, Diane Lynne, has offered to help. Her work is stunning, and I can't wait to see what she comes up with for the new covers.**

 **The consensus from last chapter is that Isabella should definitely share her insights and knowledge with her sisters. Some of you can even see her starting a revolution! (Okay, I admit it, these characters are a bit before their time...though I always imagined Lizzie Bennett having a very open and honest sort of relationship with Darcy and not putting up with any nonsense). You're also all very eager for them to mutually declare their feelings. So am I! :)**

 **xx Elise**

 **~P &P~**

 **Chapter 31**

 **Indisposed**

Two mornings after her family's visit, Isabella's courses arrived. Edward had risen early, leaving her to sleep late after a pleasant but less-than-restful night. She had been expecting the confirmation she wasn't with child but struggled to hide her despondency.

"Don't be discouraged, my lady," Angela said, misinterpreting her distress. "You've only been married a short while. These things take time, but considering your husband's _diligence_ , I doubt you will have to wait many months before you have happy news to share."

Isabella refrained from comment.

"Would you like me to inform His Lordship's valet you are indisposed?" Angela asked.

"Why ever would I want you to do that?" Isabella's tone was sharper than she intended, and her maid's face fell.

"To save you the embarrassment of having to broach such an indelicate subject with your husband," she said warily. "And so that His Lordship will know not to disturb you this evening. If he is not informed, it could be awkward for you."

Isabella sighed and found herself agreeing with Rosalie's almost blasphemous declaration that life as a commoner appeared to have its compensations. At least one's private affairs were one's own, and one's husband couldn't abandon the marriage bed at the first inconvenience, unless he would rather sleep in a chair than endure the horrors of laying beside his menstruating wife.

"Thank you for the offer, Angela, but I believe I am capable of discussing the matter with my husband without surrendering to a fit of vapours."

"Of course, my lady. Will that be all?"

"There is one more thing." Isabella decided this was as good a time as any to raise the issue she found increasingly vexing. "Is it absolutely necessary to inform the entire household of every nuance of my relationship with my husband? I am unaccustomed to residing in a household staffed with servants, and I own to finding the lack of privacy intrusive."

"I'm not one to speak out of turn, my lady." The maid's blush belied her words, and Isabella raised a brow. "It is just very difficult to maintain discretion in a household of this size when the well-being of the master and mistress are paramount. The maids know which beds have been slept in, the laundress and her helpers know of any untoward occurrences"—she gestured vaguely towards Isabella's soiled underclothes that would need to be soaked—"and the footmen are informed where to deliver the breakfast trays."

Isabella slumped in an armchair, defeated. There seemed little hope for her personal business being anything other than fodder for public conjecture. "I suppose they are all taking bets on how long before I become with child."

"It's not like that, truthfully." Angela wrung her hands. "The staff are ever so pleased to see you and His Lordship getting along well together. They think the world of both of you, ma'am, and they want only your happiness. There will be celebrating downstairs when the announcement is made you are with child. The whole district is poised to rejoice now that your father has declared the curse is broken."

Isabella would join them if there were any possibility of such an event occurring.

"Thank you, Angela. Please forgive my snappishness." Isabella indicated the maid could depart, as she needed a moment alone before joining her husband. She refused to give in to the tears that hovered close to the surface when she was afflicted by her monthly visitor, but the temptation was even stronger than usual.

"Edward, might I have a word in private?" Isabella asked after they had breakfasted together.

"Certainly." He escorted her to their study, addressing her quietly as they walked. "You seem a little subdued this morning. Is there anything amiss?"

"Nothing I wasn't expecting." She sighed, waiting to continue until the door was closed and they were safe from listening ears. "I know we had arranged to go riding this morning, but I shall have to postpone." It would have been their third outing, and Edward had planned a longer excursion now Isabella was gaining confidence.

"Are you unwell?" He caught her hands in his, studying her closely.

"Not at all." The solicitous manner she normally found endearing grated on her nerves, and she struggled to maintain a polite tone. "I am sure you will be pleased to hear my courses have arrived."

He stared blankly, and she rolled her eyes at his typical male obtuseness.

"I am not with child, Edward. Your efforts to prevent conception have been successful."

Isabella knew her husband would be pleased by the news, but his reaction went far beyond what she had expected. One moment she was trying to prevent her features from forming a pout, and the next she was being spun around in a circle.

"For heaven's sakes, put me down!" she cried.

Edward immediately complied. "I'm sorry. Did I hurt you? I shouldn't have done that considering your condition, but Isabella, I cannot begin to express how pleased I am by your news."

"Believe me, I can tell." Taking a moment to straighten her skirt, Isabella's expression was as sour as her disposition.

"Don't you realise how important this is?" Edward bent down so she couldn't avoid his gaze. "I took a great risk so we could have a proper marriage. I have been desperate to know if the measures I have taken were effective but speaking of such matters seemed indelicate."

"I have been informed as much." She thought his unwillingness to speak of her bodily functions absurd in light of their recent and repeated activities. "I appreciate that you are relieved, but you will have to forgive me if I struggle to share your enthusiasm."

Edward took a step back. "You are disappointed. You were hoping you had conceived."

"I was not." She raised her chin. "You were exceedingly cautious, and there were no grounds for hope."

"But you still want a child even _knowing_ it could cost you your life. Have you any idea what it would do to me if I lost you?"

"I understand." Her tone contradicted her words, and Edward grimaced. "I _do_ ," she insisted. "If the tables were turned, I would be unwilling to put your life in danger. But I don't believe the risk is as great as you fear."

" _Any_ risk is too great!"

Isabella threw up her hands. "Life is risk, Edward. Going for a horse ride involves risk." Shaking her head, she walked to a nearby window and stared out at the cloudy morning. Their ride may well have been cancelled anyway, as rain appeared imminent, the weather matching her mood.

"It is not the same," he said, his words clipped. "I thought we had reached an agreement, but I can see I was wrong. Is this what it's going to be like every month, with you upset and haranguing me because you are not with child? Or do I have to worry about you sabotaging my efforts so as to get your way?"

Isabella spun to face him. "That is a terrible thing to say. I would never behave in such a deceitful manner."

Edward's features remained fixed, and she pressed her hand to her chest.

"I am sorry you think so ill of me," she said. "You need have no concern about my raising this topic every month. I shan't mention it again."

After the barest of bobs, she strode towards the door.

"Isabella, wait," Edward called, and she reluctantly complied. "It was wrong of me to say you would do such a thing. Please accept my apology."

"Of course," she murmured but did not stay. The tears she had held back earlier were now distressingly close to the surface, and she would rather he not see them fall.

~P&P~

"I am sorry to disturb you, my lady, but you have visitors."

Angela's intrusion was timely, as Isabella was feeling much calmer but was unsure how to re-emerge from her room. She had already had Mrs Cope attend her and been forced to insist there was no need to send to the village for her sisters. All this fuss was excessive over one little quarrel with her husband. They had argued before, and she imagined they would do so again. It was hardly calamitous. Hopefully the next time it occurred, the unfortunate event would not coincide with her feeling somewhat fragile, as the distress her tears had caused the household was not worth the relief she had received from shedding them.

"Visitors, you say?" Isabella rose from the chair where she had been pretending to read and checked her appearance in the mirror. Her colour was a little high, but her eyes were not too puffy, which was something to be thankful for. Her gratitude would increase tenfold if the visitors _were_ her sisters, though it was Alice she longed to set her gaze upon the most. She missed her best friend terribly, hardly having seen her before the wedding and not at all since.

"I told them you were indisposed, as you had not advertised you would be receiving as yet, but they were most insistent," Angela continued. "A Lady Brandon and a Lady Westcott and their eldest daughters. They said you would welcome them with open arms in light of your current distress?"

"Good heavens." Isabella shook her head. A scant few hours had passed since she had discovered she wasn't with child, and the news had spread to the village already.

"I had best not keep them waiting." She sighed, taking a moment to tuck a few stray strands of hair into place.

~P&P~

"Isabella, my dear, dear girl." Lady Brandon approached her with arms outstretched. Technically, Ladies Brandon and Westcott should now address her as Lady Masen, followed by _my lady_ or _ma'am_ , but Isabella let the familiarity slide, considering their long association.

"How lovely to see you," Isabella said when she was finally released from Lady Brandon's embrace. "And you, too, Cynthia and Margaret. You're both looking well."

"As are you." Cynthia sounded shocked. "I thought we'd find you weeping up a storm."

Isabella flinched. If they had arrived an hour earlier, the description would have been apt.

"Well, obviously it is a _little_ disappointing not to have better news," she said. "But the viscount and I have only been wed for a fortnight. One must allow more time for these things to occur."

"What things?" Margaret asked. "Mother wouldn't tell me what was wrong, just that you were in grave distress and we must come and offer you comfort." The girl pouted, reminding Isabella she was even younger than Tanya and had probably been far more sheltered. Unsure whether she should speak more bluntly, Isabella looked to her mentors for advice. Lady Brandon gave a slight shake of her head.

"There is no need to upset the girls," she said, though why Isabella's not being with child would do so she couldn't fathom. "Since you are not in acute distress—though we are aware of how dreadful your circumstances and how great your suffering must be—let us take tea together. Afterwards, Cynthia and Margaret can amuse themselves at that rather wonderful looking pianoforte while you tell us everything."

With a sinking feeling, Isabella perceived the purpose of the visit. Sure enough, once their two daughters were out of earshot, the mothers pounced.

"Oh, you poor girl." Lady Westcott patted Isabella's hand. "We did warn you, but one expects one's husband to at least attempt to behave like a gentleman."

"It's not surprising." Lady Brandon tut-tutted. "For all their wealth and standing, the Masens were never true nobility. They didn't come over with the Normans, but rather purchased their title a mere five generations back."

"Instead of taking it by force while raping and pillaging?" Isabella raised a brow. "What exactly is my husband guilty of?"

The ladies exchanged glances.

"Of invading your bedchamber on a _nightly_ basis"—Lady Westcott shuddered—"and staying until morning."

"Quite _late_ of a morning," Lady Brandon added. "We don't know how you have borne it. Importuning one's wife at all hours is nothing less than monstrous, but I suppose it was to be expected of a Masen."

"That is quite enough." Isabella surprised both herself and her visitors with her rebuke, but she could not sit by and allow them to disparage Edward's family name, regardless of its history. "My husband is a good man, a _gentleman,_ who treats me with nothing but consideration and respect. There is absolutely no cause for alarm or reason to impugn his character."

"You deny the rumours?" Lady Brandon asked.

"I have no interest in rumours." Isabella's stare was steely. "Whatever occurs between my husband and myself in the privacy of our bedchamber is nobody's concern but ours."

"Well, I never," Lady Westcott said with a huff. "Did you not listen to a word of the advice we gave you?"

"I fear you are headed down a treacherous path, my girl." Lady Brandon shook her finger. "Don't you realise your reputation is at stake?"

"For trying to be a good wife?" Isabella's tone was more bemused than demanding. Despite her indignation, she was wary of alienating Masen society's two most important ladies.

"If your mother was alive, she would discourage you from indulging your husband in such a forward manner," Lady Brandon warned. "You will come to regret it. Mark my words."

Seeing a potential lifeline, Isabella decided to hide her offence at the lady's reference and use it to her advantage. "Actually, it was talk of my beloved mother that led my husband to offer to keep me company at night when my grief is always at its worst. As you have both mentioned on numerous occasions, I wasn't raised with such a prestigious position as viscountess in mind and have found it rather daunting. Edward has been most solicitous and not at all monstrous. That the servants choose to interpret his kindness in a salacious manner is distressing. In fact"—Isabella put on her most entreating expression—"I would appreciate any advice you might have to offer as to how I can curb the staff's propensity to tittle-tattle. It is disloyal and shows such poor character, don't you think?"

~P&P~

Isabella couldn't wait to enlighten Edward about how she had trumped her opponents. The suitably chastened ladies had left with promises to take no further part in prurient discussions pertaining to the private life of the new viscount and his bride. But then Isabella recalled her relationship with her husband was somewhat strained. Seeing as he had apologised for his harsh words, she was inclined to be forgiving, but when she went looking for him, he was nowhere to be found.

"His Lordship rode out an hour ago, my lady," Houghton informed her when she asked after her husband. "He said to let you know he would return to the manor in time for dinner."

Thwarted in her plan, Isabella's ire resurfaced. She'd have thought Edward would come and check on her after she had so obviously been reduced to tears by their encounter. At a loss as to what to do with the rest of her day, she considered calling for a carriage and heading into town. But the only person she wanted to see was Alice, and she wasn't sure of her welcome, especially in light of the current round of tales.

Dinner was a subdued affair with neither Edward nor her doing the meal justice. While contemplating dessert, Isabella decided she owed him an apology. She had told him she understood the reason for the restrictions he had placed on their marriage, then undermined him whenever her disappointment got the better of her.

"Edward, I am sorry for my surliness this morning." She reached for his hand across the table, relief welling within her when he grasped it without hesitation. "I meant what I said. I won't bring it up again."

He nodded, but his expression was still sad. "I wish things could be different, as I fear it will come between us in time."

"We won't let it," Isabella said firmly, hoping her words and not his would prove prophetic.

"How was your day?" he asked, his smile a little ragged though she appreciated his effort to lighten the mood.

"Surprising," she said, going on to provide him with an edited version of events. Isabella feared if she were to repeat her visitors' insulting accusations, she would hurt his feelings or incite his anger.

"Well done for putting the old bats in their place. I imagine once we begin appearing in public, and it is apparent we have neither grown two heads nor completely forgotten our manners, much of the talk will die down."

Isabella hoped Edward was correct, but she didn't share his confidence that interest in their doings would dissipate so readily. After dinner, they looked through the veritable mountain of invitations that had piled up since their wedding, deciding which to accept and which to decline. Isabella had socialised little in previous years and couldn't help feeling intimidated by the schedule they would be required to keep. If it wasn't for the fact she would have Edward by her side, she would have been thoroughly daunted.

Unable to stifle her yawns after an emotionally draining day, she sadly bid Edward good night earlier than usual.

"You don't wish me to accompany you?" he asked when she reached the doorway.

Isabella's mouth dropped open, and she closed it with a pop. Uncertain how to respond, she decided her annoyance with his tiptoeing around the issue earlier in the day had been a little unfair. It was a difficult topic to discuss. "You do understand we cannot . . ." She spread her hands.

"No, of course not. I didn't mean _that._ "

An expression akin to horror appeared on his face, and her annoyance returned. She wasn't contagious.

"What did you mean, then?"

"Your parents," he blurted, leaving her none the wiser. At her raised brow, he continued, speaking slowly, as if he was choosing his words with care. "You mentioned your parents shared a bedchamber, that they had only the one. I assume, therefore, it is possible for a husband and wife to cohabit when the wife is indisposed? I thought you might appreciate the company, but if you would rather be left in peace, I understand."

Isabella's vision blurred. "That is very kind of you. I would appreciate the company if it wouldn't bother you to share a bed when we cannot—"

"Not at all." Edward crossed the room and gathered her into his arms. "I'd just like to be with you, if you don't mind."

"I don't mind at all." Isabella was embarrassed by her teariness, but she allowed that it had been a trying day. The thought of spending the next six or seven nights apart from Edward hadn't been at all appealing. It was only after she mentioned to Angela her husband would be joining her, and saw her shocked expression, that she realised how his actions would be interpreted.

"To _sleep._ To keep me _company_ ," she clarified, exasperated that it was necessary to explain herself at all.

"Of course, my lady." Her maid bobbed a curtsy and exited in a rush, leaving Isabella to sigh in frustration.

"I am worried what the servants will think," she said to Edward after they had climbed into bed together, uncharacteristically clothed.

"To hell with what they think." He nestled her against his side, seemingly not bothered by the extra layers of sheeting that had been placed upon the bed. Relieved he wasn't going to allow the opinion of others to drive them apart, she didn't scold him for his language. "This is _our_ life," he added grimly, "and we shall live it how we see fit. Besides, I am sure they are astute enough to figure out what is and isn't going on, not that it's anyone's business."

Despite thinking him a tad naïve, Isabella cuddled into his side.

"Maybe we can set a new trend?" she suggested in an effort to be optimistic. Raising his head, he eyed her curiously. "By proving noble marriages can be happy ones," she continued. "That husbands and wives can treat each other with affection, and the empire won't crumble."

Chuckling quietly, Edward kissed the top of her head. "A cause I gladly endorse," he murmured before reaching over to douse the light.

~P&P~

 **Aww...they survived another quarrel without too much drama. I have to say I do _not_ miss the mood swings I suffered from in my twenties. I asked one of my sons, who is extremely even-tempered, how his relationship was going with his lovely young lady, and he said it was fine, except for once a month when he was an utter bastard, apparently. Brought back some memories!**

 **I'm sorry I can't reply to many of you, as I just don't have time with daily updates, but I do love hearing your thoughts.**

 **xx Elise**


	32. Declarations

**Oh, I think you're going to like this chapter! We have steaminess and plot and something you've all been waiting for...though maybe not quite in the manner you were hoping.**

 **xx Elise**

 **~P &P~**

 **Chapter 32**

 **Declaration**

Observing Isabella work her magic on her father's parishioners after Sunday service, Edward smiled indulgently. She made an exceptional viscountess in spite of her fears to the contrary.

Fortunately, his assurance that public censure of their less-than-conventional relationship would ease over time had proved correct. As he had suspected, a generous and benevolent lord could be forgiven a great deal, including the occasional lapse when it came to showing affection for his bride. He was also pleased to observe Isabella's tendency to kowtow to the _tonnish_ ladies had diminished. She _was_ the most highly positioned female in the district, after all.

"Married life appears to suit you," Whitlock said, coming to stand at his side. "Or should I say, your _wife_ suits you?"

"I suspect it's the combination." Edward smiled. One without the other would not be the same.

"I'm glad your offer of an alternative to celibacy was accepted," Whitlock added in a voice just loud enough for Edward to hear.

"Believe me, so am I." Edward's smile took on a slightly different cast. He had thanked his friend for his advice some time back, and assured him all was going well without giving any specific details.

"So, it's all smooth sailing on the marital front?"

"I don't know if I'd go quite that far." Edward laughed, recalling a few of the more volatile altercations he'd had with his wife. Fortunately, her feistiness was still very much a part of her appeal. "The waters can be quite treacherous at times, not that I am complaining. Learning to navigate them is half the fun. I believe there's a reason sailors ascribe feminine tendencies to the vagaries of nature."

"Your wife is prone to disagreeable moods?" Whitlock looked towards Isabella in alarm.

"Aren't we all?" Edward shrugged. Dark moods had plagued him for as long as he could recall, generally brought on by memories of his accursed existence and miserable upbringing. Since Isabella had come into his life, they occurred sparingly and were far more easily dissipated. Her charms and the new and varied distractions available to him, were proving beneficial. In light of the joy she had brought into his life, Edward could hardly begrudge the fact his wife's temperament took a capricious turn around the time of her courses. Three months into their marriage and he was discerning a distinctive pattern, one Mr Cope had warned him to expect the first time Isabella had been reduced to tears by its appearance.

"Ye need to be extra sensitive to yer wife's feelings at this time," Mr Cope had cautioned. The Copes' marriage was both long and happy from what Edward observed, and he had discovered the elderly caretaker to be a wealth of valuable advice in matters unrelated to class. Of course, he had been unable to admit to his newfound mentor the majority of Isabella's distress was caused by Edward's refusal to accommodate her wish for a child. The second and now third time his successful avoidance of conception had been confirmed, Edward was careful to modify his reaction. While his relief was no less profound with each passing month, he had no desire to offend his wife's occasionally fragile sensibilities.

True to her word, she had not reacted waspishly again, but neither could she completely mask her disappointment. When her courses had arrived a week late this time, he had been forced to hide his rising sense of panic while deflecting comments from the staff that a celebration might soon be in order. His relief at the false alarm had been tempered by the knowledge that, as the months passed without Isabella conceiving, the pressure on her would mount. The woman was invariably blamed for infertility, and his wife had no recourse with which to defend herself.

"I'm surprised to hear you describe Lady Masen as capricious, as I have always found her quite congenial." Whitlock gave Edward a pointed look. "Are you sure the fault for any contrary disposition doesn't lie with you?"

"Undoubtedly," Edward said, his tone droll. "I blame my years as an officer. I am used to being obeyed without question, and my wife has a well-developed capacity for independent thought."

Whitlock snorted. "I've noticed. Her sisters are much the same, and as for her friend, Miss Brandon . . ." The shudder that ran through him seemed excessive to Edward. Not for the first time he wondered at the reason for Whitlock's antipathy towards the young healer. "But I take it the occasional conflict is not too difficult to resolve?" Whitlock asked, returning the focus to the state of Edward's marriage.

"As long as one doesn't hold too firmly to one's pride. Offering a suitably contrite apology for any perceived insensitivity is a small price to pay to regain marital harmony."

"I imagine it must be." Whitlock nodded thoughtfully. "I never thought I would say this, but you're a lucky man, Masen."

Edward didn't disagree, though he would consider himself even luckier when Isabella's courses finally ended. The previous month they had lasted only a few days, but on this occasion they seemed to be stretching interminably—seven days already.

"Are you sure your courses haven't finished?" he asked that evening while they were preparing for bed. As soon as the words left his mouth, Edward regretted them. "I didn't mean that how it sounded." He winced in anticipation of Isabella's perfectly justifiable indignation. Expecting to be harangued regardless of his apology, he was surprised when she wrapped her arms around him instead.

"I miss being able to be intimate also, and I know you don't think I would deliberately set out to deceive you." She raised her brow questioningly, and Edward rapidly shook his head, determined to assure her he believed no such thing.

"Have you any idea how much longer we'll have to wait?" he asked, tempering his tone in hopes of avoiding sounding like a petulant child.

"I have every confidence tomorrow night will be fine," Isabella said.

Edward sighed with relief, until he recalled they were due to attend the Westcott's autumn dance. While he had discovered that, with Isabella by his side, it was possible to enjoy social engagements, balls and country dances were his least favourite events. He was limited to only the slow, less-complicated quadrilles, the faster-paced affairs beyond his injured leg's capabilities. As for waltzing with Isabella, the idea was relegated to a secret dream.

"I don't need to dance. I would much rather stay by your side," Isabella had said on several occasions, but Edward was loath to see his wife's enjoyment curbed due to his lack.

Despite being saddled with a less-than-perfect specimen for a husband, married life appeared to suit her also. Her happiness with their arrangement was reflected in a newfound confidence. Her smile was brighter and her countenance quite brilliant. Combined with her fashionable new wardrobe and the jewels he insisted on showering upon her, despite her equal insistence his generosity was excessive, the previously drab vicar's daughter had transformed into Masen's most enchanting leading lady.

Isabella accused Edward of outrageous bias, but the gentlemen of the district agreed with his opinion. No longer ignorant of his wife's superior charms, the men who had once shunned her were now drawn like moths to a flame. He suspected their interest was heightened by the rumours regarding the viscount's unconventional marriage. Combined with the fact his wife didn't treat him with public disdain, she must seem extraordinarily appealing.

Smug in the knowledge Isabella's flirtatious smiles were for him and him alone, Edward did not begrudge his wife her new status. As long as her admirers didn't behave in an overly familiar manner, or fall into the fatal trap of assuming Isabella might be open to dalliance, he saw no need to intervene. Which didn't mean it was easy to stand on the periphery of a dance-floor. Watching her be partnered by other gentlemen in the reels and line dances was a torment he endured with little grace. He hadn't expressed an opinion, but he was relieved Isabella chose not to participate in the waltzes.

There was only so much a man could endure.

Unfortunately, Edward surpassed his limit at the Westcott ball. Isabella looked more beautiful than ever in a taffeta gown of deep burgundy, her hair piled high, and the Masen rubies glittering against her creamy décolletage. Having been forced to suppress his need for her for almost eight days, his anticipation for what she had promised would come _after_ the event was excessive. In a vain attempt to manage his impatience, he allowed himself several more glasses of wine than was his custom, and then a couple more when he caught sight of the way Isabella was being ogled by his peers. Since drinking to excess was not a habit of Edward's, the effect on his faculties was marked. It did little to moderate his desire for his wife and served only to amplify his irritation at the overtly fawning behaviour of the local gentlemen. When an obtuse young fop insisted on pushing the boundaries despite Edward's darkening glower, his patience was expended. New to the district, the man either was in search of an early death or was unaware the sixth Viscount Masen was not a man with whom one should trifle. To disrespect, or make a play for, his viscountess was to do so at one's peril.

At the sight of the man's hand placed low on his wife's back, followed by her halting mid-dance and scolding him for his impertinence, Edward's blood came to the boil. It was only Isabella's intervention that prevented a murder.

"Darling, why don't we get some air out on the terrace?" she suggested after rushing to Edward's side when she saw him striding across the dance floor.

He had been reliably informed that, in full fury, he was an intimidating sight, and Edward wasn't surprised when his wife's dance partner made a hasty retreat. Ignoring Isabella's suggestion, he continued in the direction of his prey, fully intent on punching the jackass in the nose . . . repeatedly. It was a good thing he was not wearing his sword.

"Edward?" Isabella persisted, desperation in her tone.

"It's cold outside," he said, practically dragging her in his wake. "I don't want you falling ill."

"Then why don't we just go home?"

Her second suggestion held merit, and he was annoyed to hear himself say, "It is not yet midnight. Isn't it rude to leave before two?"

"Aren't you always telling me that, as the highest-ranked couple in the district, it is our prerogative which rules we follow and which we break? It's ludicrous staying out so late in the country. I, for one, would prefer an earlier bedtime." Lifting on her toes she whispered close to his ear, "Wouldn't you?"

Edward scanned the watching crowd for their hosts, planning on thanking them for their hospitality before making a quick exit. It was only as they were heading towards the door that he remembered their responsibilities.

"Your sisters and Miss Brandon." He groaned. "They won't want to leave just yet."

"It's all handled. Mr Whitlock has offered to escort them home. There is nothing keeping us."

Edward was surprised Isabella had convinced Miss Brandon to attend the event, their relationship still somewhat strained. He was even more surprised his estate manager was willing to have the young woman in his carriage, considering the pairs acrimonious relationship. It was testament to how volatile the situation had become, and Edward called himself all manner of idiots for imbibing too freely. He had never been foxed before but suspected he might be close. It was appalling how like his father he had become, his heart set on mayhem. But someone should have warned that mutton-headed widgeon to leave Viscount Masen's wife well alone.

Edward stumbled several times on their way across the cobblestone courtyard, and he cursed his leg for choosing now to fail him. It was only when he had made it safely inside the carriage that it dawned on him they had a forty-five-minute drive ahead during which time they would be completely alone. Watching Isabella lock the door, stoke the brazier that kept the interior warm, then remove her velvet cloak, his breathing quickened.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

After discarding her slippers, she reached beneath her gown to remove her pantaloons. "If you are thinking that you are quite desperate to engage in marital relations with your spouse and couldn't possibly wait until you reach home, then yes."

Edward's head began to spin for lack of blood, desire having directed it elsewhere. Speechless, he watched as Isabella lifted her skirts, straddled his lap, and began undoing the buttons on his jacket and vest.

"I need to feel your skin against mine," she murmured.

It was a wonder he didn't pass out. Wrenching at his cravat, he almost succeeded in strangling himself, as the damned thing was tied in such a complicated fashion.

"Let me." Isabella deftly undid the knot he had tightened before he suffered permanent injury to his windpipe. Between the two of them, they managed to remove his tightly fitted jacket and vest without damaging either. But the buttons on his shirt were no match for his impatience, and they were sent skittering to the four corners of the carriage when he ripped it open.

"That's better." Isabella sighed, running her fingers over his heated flesh. "I have missed touching your bare skin."

"You don't have to deny yourself," he said, struggling to undo the covered buttons that ran down the back of her gown. On those nights when they could not engage in intercourse, he was more than happy to accommodate her with whatever she would like to do. The chaste kisses he gave her clearly weren't enough, but he had been hesitant to do more. There was no point in _both_ of them losing sleep due to pent-up passion.

When her gown opened at the back without the fabric tearing, Edward smiled, pleased to have shown a modicum of finesse. The capped sleeves slid down to her elbows, and the bodice fell to her waist, leaving her breasts exposed. She was not wearing a chemise, and the realisation she was quite bare beneath the gown sent a jolt of pure desire directly to his already aching groin. He imagined her stockings must be held up by one of the exotic-looking garter belts she occasionally wore, and he offered up a prayer of thanksgiving.

"Stunning," Edward whispered, feeling like a child in a candy store—overwhelmed and unsure where to begin.

Taking matters into her own hands, Isabella leaned forward to rub her breasts against his chest while her mouth captured his in an uninhibited kiss. Her tongue invaded his mouth, something she had plucked up the courage to attempt only recently, while her nimble fingers undid his breeches, pausing between buttons to stroke his rigid member.

His wife had turned out to be a quick learner and every bit as inventive as the outrageous books that had supplied his initial inspiration. He hadn't bothered with them in weeks, as Isabella's innate sensuality and unfettered responses supplied all the stimulus he could possibly need.

"Good God, yes." He groaned against her mouth when she released him from his constraints. His hands found their way beneath her skirts and smoothed along her thighs until they reached the soft curls at their juncture. Her whimpers of need assured him she was as ready as he was. Still they savoured the moment, kissing, caressing, and increasing the anticipation. When he could take no more, Edward urged her to lift up. He threw his head back and groaned loudly as she lowered herself onto him.

"Shh . . ." She cupped his cheek, directing his gaze to her face. "We shall have to keep quiet, darling, or the driver and footmen will hear us."

Her words made him smile. That and the feel of their joined bodies being rocked by the movement of the horses.

"Have I told you how lovely you look tonight?" he asked, keeping his voice low, or so he hoped.

"Hmm . . ." She rested her hands on his shoulders while raising and lowering herself in time with the carriage. Her breasts swayed before him, and he nuzzled them with his lips. "But I don't mind hearing you say it again," she said, her voice low and husky.

"You're luberly, I mean _lovely_ ," he declared, uncharacteristically tongue-tied. Lifting his head, he met her gaze, speaking slowly and deliberately. "That's because you are eminently worthy of love, and I admire everything about you."

The breath hitched in Isabella's throat, and she held still. "You do?"

"I do." Edward tried to remember why he had waited so long to tell her. "I love you, Isabella. I am completely and utterly besotted."

She sighed. "Oh, Edward. I love you, too."

"Even though I cannot give you a child?"

After kissing him soundly, she whispered close to his ear, "Even then. You have given me so much. I _adore_ you, Edward."

"Oh, my Bella, I adore you, too." Groaning, he buried his face in the curve of her neck while they moved together, intimately joined and infusing one another with pleasure. He sought her mouth and tried to convey with his passionate kisses all the emotions that overflowed his heart. "I love you, I love you," he murmured against her lips before kissing along the delicate line of her jaw. His hands mapped her curves, stroking, caressing, and arousing them both to an intensity he could barely recall having experienced before.

Isabella repeated his words, as Edward lowered his head to the swell of her breasts. Moving faster in response to his caresses, she rode him until he felt the telltale pulses that revealed her climax was imminent. At the delightful contractions, his own pleasure increased a thousandfold. Muffling her cries against the curve of his shoulder, his wife reached her peak, trembling while he held her close. As her body clenched his member tightly, his release crashed over him with unexpected force.

He should have lifted her off him immediately. It was what he had done every time since the first, what he _had_ to do, what he _must_ do.

But he did not.

Caught up in the most euphoric peak he had ever experienced, Edward gave no thought to his carelessness or its fearful consequence. His seed pulsing deep within Isabella's body appeared to trigger wave after wave of pleasure to overtake her, as she trembled and moaned against his neck. As for Edward, his entire being was consumed by the sheer and utter bliss of being inside his beloved when he found his release.

~P&P~

 **Who doesn't love a good romp in a carriage?**

 **I decided to split this chapter and leave it on a positive note, so you can all have a happy day - or a good night's sleep! I'll share the second half in my morning, so about 12 hours from now. :)**

 **xx Elise**


	33. Declarations - Part Two

**Oops! I slept in! Plus, I think I stressed some of you out more by holding the last part of this chapter back than if I'd included it last night, as many of you are expecting the worst. It does get a little bumpy...**

 **xx Elise**

 **~P &P~**

 **Chapter 32 - Part Two**

 **Declarations (Continued)**

Edward awoke to canon fire exploding inside his head.

"Isabella?" he groaned, one hand rising to ward off the pain, the other patting the empty mattress beside him in search of his wife. It wasn't like him to sleep late, but since he was clearly suffering some terrible, life-threatening malady, he supposed it made sense he was alone. There was no point to his beloved catching whatever dreaded disease had claimed him.

"I am right here, sweetheart," she said.

He whimpered in relief that he had not been abandoned. Peeking through the tiniest slit in his burning eyelids, he was just able to make out her form beside the bed.

"You need to sit up and drink this," she said, indicating the glass in her hand. Her tone was more wry than solicitous, and he experienced a surge of indignation. Surely a dying man deserved some sympathy.

The thought brought him up short. He couldn't die. He couldn't leave Isabella.

"What's wrong with me?" he croaked, struggling to lift his head from the pillow. "My skull feels like it has been cleaved with an axe."

"I imagine it does." Taking his weight, Isabella propped up his head with extra pillows. "I suppose it says something for your character that this is your first time suffering the effects of excessive inebriation."

"Inebriation?" Before he could get any answers regarding her ridiculous accusation, she plied him with the foulest tasting concoction he had ever been forced to imbibe.

"Gah!" he sputtered after she forced him to down the last drop, choking and gasping at the sting the liquid had in its tail. "What on earth was that?"

"You will have to ask Mr Cope," Isabella said, placing the glass on the bedside table. "It is the remedy he used to aid your father when he was bosky. Something that occurred quite often, I gather."

"Too often," Edward muttered, befogged by this strange turn of events. "What happened?"

Isabella sat beside him on the bed, her hip pressed comfortingly against his thigh. He reached for her hand, grateful when she took it. If he had behaved at all like his father when similarly affected, God forbid, she would have been long gone. His hopes kindled at the thought. "I didn't do anything too despicable, did I?"

"What do you remember?"

The effort required to concentrate caused his head to swell to double its size, or so it seemed. He moaned in response to the outrageous pain before managing to utter, "We went to a party . . . a dance. The Westcotts'?"

Isabella nodded encouragingly.

"You were dancing with that young dandiprat. You looked beautiful. I drank too much, obviously, and then . . ." There was nothing, and he raised his brows in alarm.

"You don't remember what we did? What you said?" Her expression was pained, and Edward ignored his personal agony to search his foggy memories.

"That scatter-witted fool kept touching you, and I was going to kill him," he said, realising his mistake at her shocked gasp. He shrugged. He was a soldier. It wouldn't have been the first time he had killed a man, though the others had been the enemy, not a fellow Englishmen. They had also occurred in the heat of battle, not the middle of a dance-floor, so perhaps she did have cause to be alarmed.

"We were able to leave early." He smiled at the remembered relief and anticipation. " _You_ removed your pantaloons," he said, pleased to provoke a blush. "Then . . ." His frown returned as whatever came next appeared lost in the quagmire that had invaded his brain. "We were intimate?"

"We were."

"In the carriage?"

"You don't remember."

Her lower lip trembled, and Edward felt a surge of panic.

"Tell me? Did I hurt you? Was I too rough . . . or insensitive?" Sometimes Isabella needed help to reach her peak. It didn't happen as easily for her as it did for him, but he always took the time to make sure she was fully satisfied. Had he selfishly neglected her needs while seeing to his own?

"No, nothing like that. It was wonderful." Her voice broke, and she stood and moved to the sideboard, fussing with something no doubt inconsequential while composing herself.

Edward didn't know what to think.

Striving harder, a few vague images crossed his mind. Isabella straddling his lap in the carriage—she was right, it _had_ been good—while they whispered sweet nothings in each other's ears. Then, nothing. He vaguely remembered trying to engage her in amorous activity again once they were home, on the stairs of all places. She had scolded him. Something about their having an audience.

"Oh, God," Edward muttered.

Isabella spun to face him. "What do you recall?"

"I practically attacked you on the stairs, and there were servants watching. Houghton, I think, and Markham."

"They helped me get you onto the bed and undressed you after you passed out. I think they were worried about my staying with you, but I assured them you were harmless."

Edward closed his eyes against an upswell of shame. He had behaved just like his father.

"I am so sorry, Isabella." He carefully shook his head, relieved when the motion did not cause it to fall off. Mr Cope's remedy seemed to be helping, not that he deserved surcease from his suffering. "I did not mean to embarrass you in front of the servants. You must hate me."

"I could never hate you," she said, but her expression was troubled.

"Did anything else happen?" He winced. "Did I say or do _anything_ to offend you, because I assure you, it was the drink, not me. Whatever I might have said or done last night, I want you to completely disregard it. It did not mean a thing, I promise _._ "

"If you say so," she whispered, her eyes filling with tears.

Edward's heart sank, and he vowed never to touch another drop of demon drink so long as he lived. Over the course of the next few days, he struggled to make amends for offending her, but Isabella remained subdued. Occasionally, he would catch her looking at him with an expression that caused his heart to clench. His memories weren't much use, interwoven with long-held fantasies and what he could only describe as wish-fulfilment. He had yet to summon the courage to tell his wife he loved her and, as for finding his release while still inside her body, not even drunk would he take such a risk.

~P&P~

 **Poor Edward. It seems he was an amorous drunk, when he got past his murderous tendencies. In his hungover state, he doesn't trust his memory. At least Isabella is off the hook for the time being. ;)**

 **See you all tonight!**

 **xx Elise**


	34. Accident

**Hello Again. I'm late to post and feeling sad, because my best friend of thirty years just had a heart attack. She was having physio on her recently reconstructed knee, and a doctor happened to drop in and was suspicious enough to call an ambulance. All she felt was nauseous, hot, dizzy, and her vision went a bit blurry. At no point did she experience any chest pain. She was rushed to hospital where they inserted a stent. Thankfully, they said she should make a good recovery, but if she'd been at home and gone to lay down (as you would with those symptoms!), she would have never woken up. I'd like to say it is a timely reminder for all of us, but I don't know anyone that would think to go to the ER with those symptoms. I'm just so grateful they picked it up, and she survived.**

 **On a cheerier note, this chapter is quite exciting with lots of action - unusual for my stories.**

 **xx Elise**

 **~P &P~**

 **Chapter 33**

 **Accident**

Isabella tried not to be hurt by Edward's disclaimer, but it seemed impossible he could tell her he loved her, repeatedly _,_ then have no memory of it the next morning. She briefly considered reminding him of his declaration, but her husband's words of love and adoration were not the only thing he had forgotten. The mere possibility she might be with child would see Edward beside himself, and not with joy.

While Isabella didn't think he would blame her, the thought of admitting what had happened caused her stomach to knot. Typically, Edward took responsibility for preventing conception, but she had been aware he was well in his cups and done nothing to mitigate the risk. She recalled holding him very tightly, secretly wishing he would forget his resolve and allow them to be joined when he found his release . . . which was exactly what had happened.

Isabella assured herself the odds of her being with child from a single moment of carelessness were minimal, but saying anything that might trigger Edward's memory of the event did not seem wise. At least, not until she was certain there were no life-altering consequences to their interlude. Once the danger had passed, she intended sharing her feelings with him again except, this time, she would make sure he was in a fit state to recall her declaration and, she hoped, reciprocate in kind.

Other than her disappointment over the events of that night, she was coming to enjoy life as a viscountess. Her fear of failing to live up to expectations had mostly proved unfounded. Having expected lifelong spinsterhood, the joy she found in her marriage was well worth enduring the occasional raised brow and sly remark, especially when she recognised her critics were motivated by jealousy. No matter how she warned, entreated, or downright scolded, her husband was unable to resist displaying his affection for her in public. His actions were at the lower end of the scandalous scale—whispered endearments, discreet caresses, a general air of absorption where his wife was concerned when polite disinterest was the norm. But there was no mistaking the looks of envy she detected from the wives of the district's gentry.

"So how are you finding married life, Lady Masen?" she was asked repeatedly, the tone of the question ranging from coolly disapproving to downright salacious.

Smiling serenely, she responded with the utmost dignity, giving the same answer every time. "It is wonderful, thank you. Just wonderful."

It was true. Edward was extremely supportive, and she was flourishing. It helped that the position of viscountess had turned out to be remarkably similar to that of a vicar's wife or daughter, just on a much grander scale. Her concern she might lack for purpose, with the running of the household and daily chores taken care of by others, proved unfounded. In fact, if she wanted to spend a few hours reading or playing the pianoforte, she had to schedule time in her diary, as the many and varied responsibilities incumbent on her new role could easily overwhelm her if she let them.

"Don't overdo it," Edward regularly warned, insisting she employ a secretary and delegate those tasks that were too time-consuming, onerous, or simply unenjoyable. The Masen district was vast, comprising a dozen villages and goodly portions of some major towns, Thornlie included. Isabella couldn't possibly oversee _everything_ pertaining to the well-being of their tenants and employees. But she insisted on paying personal attention to the needs of the people of Forkton as she always had, just with far greater resources at her disposal.

"Don't forget to schedule time for _us_ ," was Edward's other, oft-repeated request.

"With pleasure," she assured him, having no intention of neglecting her husband. Their relationship was her first priority, which was why, three and a half weeks after the Westcotts' autumn dance, she rode out with him for a picnic despite the dreary weather.

Edward had a tendency to take on the characteristics of a caged lion when cooped up inside for too long. With autumn well established and the long winter months ahead, he took advantage of any remotely fine day to go riding or take a walk in the gardens. That Isabella was his preferred companion pleased her no end.

Their picnic, taken beside a small pond Edward remembered visiting as a boy, was lovely despite the less-than-perfect weather. A pleasant spot, it was unfortunately some distance from the manor on the far side of the patch of forest that bordered them to the east.

"We'll have to get a move on," he said as they were making a leisurely return. In the time they had spent lazing on a blanket, the day had gone from overcast to stormy, the threat of rain imminent. "Are you up for a canter?"

Gathering the reins tight, Isabella urged Milly, her chestnut mare, across the open field.

"Race you to the other side," she shouted, riding on ahead. Her much smaller mount couldn't possibly compete with Edward's magnificent black thoroughbred, but it was fun to tease him.

"Grip tight with your knees," he called after her.

"Yes, dear," she replied in a singsong voice. Riding astride was much easier than the socially acceptable sidesaddle, the irony of the so-called weaker sex being forced to ride in such a precarious manner not escaping her. If she ever wanted to ride alongside her husband publicly, in particular when he led the Masen hunt, she would need to master the more dangerous form. But for now, she was glad to have the use of both legs to control her mount and help maintain her balance.

Laughing, she urged her mare onward, enjoying the feel of the wind in her face. Halfway across the field, a not-so-distant crack of thunder announced the storm's arrival. Milly shied in response to the boom and flash of light, but Isabella managed to hold her seat.

"Are you all right?" Edward asked, pulling alongside her as the rain began to fall.

"I'm fine, but we are going to be soaked."

What had started out as an enjoyable outing looked to end dismally. The storm hit with surprising ferocity, and they ducked low against their horses' necks to shield themselves from the fierce wind and driving rain.

"This way." Edward took the lead as they raced beneath the forest canopy.

Isabella followed without hesitation, though she did not like the idea of being amongst the trees during a lightning storm. Not that being out in the open was much safer.

"Where are we going?" she shouted as they rode deeper into the woods, the ground a muddy quagmire beneath their horses' hooves. After a few moments of treacherous riding, Edward pointed to a small shack, barely visible through the gloom. Isabella's relief at finding shelter turned to panic when lightning struck close by, illuminating an enormous tree with a torrent of sparks, and even a few flames, before sending it crashing across the path before them.

"Edward!" she cried as his horse dodged and weaved amongst the smoking branches before sailing over the fallen trunk. It was a huge leap, far greater than any jump Isabella had made before. She hauled back on the reins, but Milly charged ahead, determined to follow her mate.

"No! Don't!" Isabella cried out, feeling the mare's haunches bunching beneath her as she prepared to jump. Between the height of the log and the tangle of foliage, Isabella couldn't see what was on the other side. She clutched at Milly's mane, her head snapping back as the mare leaped upwards.

Time slowed, and for a moment she thought they were going to make the leap without mishap. But then Milly's back hooves caught on a branch protruding from the far side of the log. With her horse twisting to the side, Isabella slipped from the saddle. A cry of fright tore from her lips as the ground came up to meet her. Crashing through a maze of twigs and leaves, she landed hard on her hip before rolling and smacking her back on the muddy ground.

"Isabella!" Edward shouted.

Relief welled within her to hear his voice. The foliage above her rustled and shook as he lifted branches out of the way to reach her.

"Please be well, please be well," he chanted, checking her for injuries while she struggled to suck air into lungs that felt bound in iron. Soaked to the skin, covered in mud, and aching all over, she was far from well, except for the fact her husband was with her.

"Don't worry, I'll live," she said when speech was possible. "Help me up?"

"I should carry you," he muttered grimly, both of them aware it was not possible. Even with four good limbs, she would have been difficult to lift wearing a mud-soaked habit.

With his good arm around her waist, Edward supported her weight, helping her over fallen branches and slippery patches as they made slow progress towards the ramshackle-looking structure.

"What is this place?" Isabella asked from between chattering teeth once they were safely inside.

"An old gamekeeper's hut." Edward ignored a battered table and chairs and led her to a cot by the wall. "Sit here," he said. "I'll see if I can find a blanket. They used to keep these places well stocked, but I'm guessing it's been years since anyone has visited."

To their relief, an old chest provided a coarse, grey blanket while a dented lamp held enough oil to give them a few hours' light. With Edward's help, she removed her sodden coat, riding skirt, and boots. It was only when she was wrapped in the scratchy blanket that Edward stripped down to his undershirt and breeches and joined her on the bed. Isabella opened her arms and welcomed him beneath the thin covering.

"We'll warm up quicker this way," she said, hugging him close. "Just as long as you don't get any amorous ideas. I don't think I'm up to it."

Edward snorted. "For once, I am not in the mood. Are you sure you are unharmed?" He searched her face, his hands gently mapping her body. "Thank God you didn't strike your head."

"It is the only part of me not hurting." She managed a feeble laugh. It was either that or cry, and she didn't think it wise to start something she might not be able to stop. To cap off their afternoon, her stomach had begun to cramp, and she suspected her courses had arrived. If she _had_ been with child, she was losing it. Even knowing it had been less than a month and the event was neither planned nor welcome, she could not help grieving what might have been.

"There, there," Edward said when tears filled Isabella's eyes despite her efforts to prevent them. "It's going to be all right. Dodds will send out a search party. I told him where we were heading, and this hut is in a fairly direct line with home. I imagine our mounts are halfway back to their nice warm stables by now."

"Lucky them." Isabella sniffed, hoping Milly hadn't been injured when she fell. "I know we shall look back on this and laugh at our little adventure one day, but I'm not too proud to admit that was very frightening."

"Terrifying." Edward shuddered. "I'm just glad you're not too badly hurt. You will be stiff and sore tomorrow."

"I am stiff and sore right now," she said with a huff, soaking in the warmth of Edward's body. Her husband was better than hot bricks or a bed warmer, one of the many things she loved about him.

The thought galvanised Isabella to act. The setting was far from romantic, but after seeing Edward almost killed by the huge tree, not to mention her own brush with disaster, she wasn't willing to wait to declare her feelings.

"There is something I need to tell you. Something very important that can't wait another minute." She lifted her head to capture his startled gaze. "I love you, Edward. Ardently and with all my heart, and I am so very glad you are my husband."

His jaw dropped, his features went slack, and for the longest moment, he just stared. Isabella wasn't too worried. She would even bear it if he didn't echo the sentiment straightaway, as she was reasonably convinced her husband felt a deep and abiding affection for her in return. He demonstrated it in so many different ways, although hearing him say it would be nice.

"My sweet Bella," he whispered, his tone a balm to her frazzled nerves. "I love you, too, so _very_ much. I have wanted to say it for such a long time, but I wasn't sure if you would welcome the words, which seems ridiculous now." He shook his head in bemusement. "If your feelings in any way mirror mine, then you are overjoyed to hear me express them."

"Overjoyed and relieved." Isabella slipped a hand from beneath the blanket to cup his cheek. "I hoped, and by your actions it _seemed,_ you might share my feelings of ardour and affection."

"You could tell?" Edward's expression brightened before it took on an embarrassed cast. "I was too much of a coward to come out and say the words in case you didn't feel the same, so I have tried to show you instead. But now I've said it." He smiled triumphantly.

Isabella couldn't help but laugh. "Which doesn't mean you should stop _showing_ me as well."

"Of course not." His expression sobered. "From now on, I shall tell you every day _exactly_ how I feel about you, as well as continue to express it through my deeds."

"Good." She nodded, snuggling against his chest. "That is a wonderful plan, one I shall also follow."

In Isabella's imaginings, they had enjoyed a passionate interlude after making their declarations, but the timing was wrong on several counts. Battered, bruised, and dealing with the sudden arrival of her courses, all Isabella wanted to do was rest in her husband's arms.

~P&P~

"My dear, it is time to go."

Edward's voice roused her from sleep, and she reluctantly opened her eyes. A glance at their less-than-congenial setting and the rescuers crowding the small dwelling brought her wide awake. Mr Whitlock handed Edward a dry blanket, which he wrapped around her.

"Thank you." She mustered a smile as Edward helped her to her feet, while holding another blanket around his own shoulders. "How did the horses fare? My mare took a tumble at the same time I did. Was she injured?"

"Nothing serious, my lady." Dodds stepped forward and doffed his hat. "I've got the lads taking care of her, but my biggest concern was seeing you and His Lordship returned 'ome safely."

"How _will_ we return?" Isabella asked, in no fit state to be getting back on a horse, especially not astride.

"There is an old logging road that runs close to the rear of the hut," Edward explained as he helped her out the door, Mr Whitlock entrusted with her other arm. "There's a carriage waiting. Well, more of a sturdy work cart."

"That sounds wonderful." Isabella sighed, reminded of the first time she had travelled in a vehicle with Edward, also a plain and sturdy cart. The journey was wet, cold, and bouncy, but arriving home to a hot bath, a cooked meal, and a warm and comfortable bed was sheer bliss.

~P&P~

 **Scary stuff! If you've ever been thrown from a horse, especially one jumping a large obstacle, you will know that it hurts, a lot! But their declarations have been made while shaken but sober, and there doesn't _appear_ to be any cause for Bella to mention the carriage mishap. ;)**

 **xx Elise**


	35. Illness

**Thank you for all the best wishes for my friend. She's on the mend and very happy to be alive.**

 **I've been a complete fail at review replies today. I usually try and respond to ones with questions at least and others when I can, but I'm operating on almost no sleep. I bought a beautiful bunch of flowers for my friend but then couldn't take it into the CCU (Coronary Care Unit) last night (duh!) so I took them home with me. Turns out I was allergic to one of the green frondy things (or maybe the stuff they sprayed on it) and I spent the next fifteen hours covered in hives and itching until I worked out what was causing it. I thought it was stress. Sigh...**

 **My lovely reviewers have a lot of questions, theories, and concerns about Bella's situations, but I can't say much without spoiling the plot. I will say all your questions will be answered, hopefully satisfactorily, over the next half a dozen chapters. I can't believe we've got less than a week left to go before this story is complete.**

 **xx Elise**

 **~P &P~**

 **Chapter 34**

 **Illness**

Edward watched Isabella like a hawk for the next few days, insisting Alice come to check her over.

"You will need to take some gentle exercise or you will stiffen up, but a few days' rest won't go astray," Alice said, before whispering for Isabella's ears only, "More to keep your husband happy than anything, as he is worried sick. I don't think he realises you are in possession of a great deal of intestinal fortitude."

Isabella hid her smile when Edward rushed over to hear the verdict, grateful to be back on better footing with her friend. Alice's antipathy towards Isabella's marriage had eased when she had been assured by her friend that Edward was taking particular care to make certain his wife did not conceive.

Unsurprisingly, given the soaking they had received, Edward caught a chill which rapidly progressed to a feverish bout of grippe.

"I shall sleep in the master suite," he said, not wanting her to contract his illness.

Isabella shook her already aching head. "There is no point. My throat hurts as much as the rest of me, and my nose is starting to itch. We might as well keep each other company in our misery."

Having forgotten what a difficult patient Edward could be, Isabella almost came to regret her offer. His grumbling was quite wearing, even if his presence was mostly welcome.

"Poor baby," she murmured in the middle of the night a week after their misadventure when his moaning kept them both awake.

"Baby?" he rasped, rising on one elbow to eye her indignantly. "Are you inferring I am acting like an infant?"

"Not at all." She cuddled him close. "Well, maybe a little, but I can't say I blame you. This illness is rather trying."

" _You_ have barely complained, and you were in much worse shape than me to begin with."

"I apologise?" Isabella hid her smile when he harrumphed crossly.

When Edward recovered completely, and Isabella did not, his attitude changed.

"Why isn't she better yet?" he demanded of Alice, who came to check on her friend when she was still ill after three long weeks.

"These things have to run their course," Alice said, delivering another bottle of tonic. "Isabella was weakened by the fall, but she is strong and should be up and about again before too long."

To everyone's relief, Edward's irascibility affecting the entire household, Isabella was finally able to leave her sick bed for good a month after the accident. Her father and sisters had come to stay while the vicarage was undergoing its more urgently needed repairs, and Isabella was glad to greet them dressed and looking like her old self for a change.

It was past time she attended to her duties. With winter close at hand, she was concerned for the more vulnerable members of their community, with much to do organising blankets, clothing, and food hampers for those in need. To her great annoyance, barely a week after recovering from her cold, she came down with a stomach ailment.

"I warned you to be careful, Isabella," Edward scolded, her illness seemingly related to visiting some of their poorer tenants. "I know you do not like to give offence, but you must learn to say no if you are offered a meal that appears doubtful. You are too important to risk."

"Everyone is important, Edward," she said, wearily echoing the sentiment her parents had taught her from an early age.

"Not like you are. Not to me." The depth of his concern for her safety made it easier to forgive his overbearing tone.

"Don't fret. I am not _terribly_ ill," she said, although she had reason to question her assertion when she was forced to make a dash for the commode, situated behind a screen in her room, several times during the night.

"I don't want you seeing me like this," she whimpered when Edward sat beside her, holding her hair out of the way as she huddled with her head over the bowl.

"In sickness and health, remember?" After wiping her face with a damp cloth, he assisted her back to bed.

Moaning, Isabella curled on her side and surrendered to a bout of self-pity. She had only just begun to feel like her old self, _finally_ able to be intimate with her husband after declaring their love for one another, and now this?

"It will pass," Edward said, trying to soothe her, but he was wrong. Every time she thought she was recovered, for a few hours or even a day, the nausea and vomiting returned. The illness struck at all hours of the day and night until she was thoroughly worn down.

"Sweetheart, this has been going on for too long. Are you _sure y_ our courses aren't overdue?" Edward asked in a gentle voice after a particularly distressing episode. "I know you would never try to hide something that important from me, but with everything that has happened, you might have lost track of things. I know I have."

Isabella huffed. When they were first married, Edward had been under the misconception women's bodies operated like clockwork to a twenty-eight-day cycle. Isabella's did not, in fact, hers was far from regular. She had explained that to him when he had panicked the first time her courses were late. Sometimes they came monthly, sometimes they did not. The last few occurrences had been quite random and much lighter than usual. She had experienced mere spotting, for which she had been grateful considering how dreadful she already felt. Nevertheless, her courses had arrived twice since the night in the carriage.

"I have told you, Edward. It is not that." She sighed. "Sometimes sickness lingers, but it does not mean it is life threatening. I am sure I will be better soon."

"Of course you will." He pulled her close, and she nestled against him, feeling protected but also a little sad. If she _had_ been with child, she would have borne her suffering without complaint. But to endure such awful symptoms stoically, when there was no good reason for them, was much more difficult.

"I want you to rest more," Edward said. "The minute you feel the slightest bit better, you throw yourself into caring for others."

Isabella lifted a shoulder but did not deny his words.

He stroked her hair back from her face. "I don't think you have given yourself the time your body needs to recover from the fall, the grippe, and now this stomach ailment. You need to let me take care of you for a while."

Isabella squirmed at the thought, as it went against the grain to sit back while others did the work. She couldn't ever recall spending the better part of a month in bed. Then again, she had never had a chest illness as bad as the one from which she had only just recovered. As for the nausea . . . "Very well," she conceded on a sigh, and Edward's frown finally lightened.

Though curbing her activities, Isabella insisted on being involved in family life as much as possible. Each day she dressed, regardless of how she felt, and came down to spend time with her father and sisters when they were available.

"I shall be in my office if you need me," Edward said, leaning over to peck Isabella's lips one morning before heading for the door. Her husband had decided if her family was going to be staying with them for an extended period of time while the vicarage was renovated— _his_ idea, she reminded him whenever he grumbled about the intrusion on their privacy—then they would have to get used to his treating his wife with an uncommon degree of affection. Fortunately, they took no offence.

"Just make sure you don't overdo it, Isabella. Do you hear me?" He paused in the doorway, one finger raised in emphasis.

"Yes, dear." She rolled her eyes, relieved her sisters at least had the decency to wait until he had closed the door behind him before they burst out laughing.

"I never expected to see you so thoroughly cowed," Rosalie said, coming to sit on the floor beside the chaise lounge where Isabella lay. "Or so thoroughly adored. I am very happy for you."

"I would be happier if you weren't ill all the time. It is dreadfully tiresome." Tanya plopped down in the chair opposite. Isabella wasn't certain whom her sister was feeling sorry for, but her following words clarified. "Mr Cope is convinced we shall have a white Christmas, but making snow angels won't be half as much fun if you can't join us."

"It is not as if I have a lot of choice in the matter," Isabella said, carefully rising to her feet.

"Where are you going?" Rosalie demanded. "Edward said we are to keep an eye on you."

"I am going to the necessary. You are welcome to walk the hall with me if you must." Isabella attempted to hide her irritation as she appreciated her sister's concern. To add to her misery, her bladder had decided to misbehave, necessitating emptying many more times a day and night than was usual.

"We shall _all_ go," Tanya said, making it sound like an adventure.

Smiling, Isabella glanced back over her shoulder at her youngest sister and was alarmed when the room began to spin around her. "Oh dear." She spread her arms to prevent herself from falling, but it was too late. The rich, patterned carpet swirled before her eyes just before everything went black.

~P&P~

 **I'm guessing you have all figured out what is going on. I know the majority of you were fairly certain she could not be pregnant, as their 'mishap' occurred just as her period ended. I'm sure most of us are aware (some from personal experience!), that the rhythm method is only effective if the woman's cycle is nice and regular.**

 **Thank you from the bottom of my heart for your kind words, encouragement, and ongoing support of this story.**

 **xx Elise**


	36. Faith

**Silly FFn won't let me reply to anything at the moment, but I am still receiving and loving your wonderful reviews. Please keep sending them!**

 **The majority of you are expecting a rocky road ahead, and you are not wrong. I'm hoping our dear, Viscountward won't disappoint you too badly...well, once he pulls his head out of his you know where! My apologies in advance if this chapter offends or stirs up difficult memories for anyone. I can't say too much without spoiling the plot, but feel free to PM me before reading if you are concerned. I will say a little more at the end.**

 **xx Elsie**

 **~P &P~**

 **Chapter 35**

 **Faith**

"I am sorry to interrupt, my lord, but Lady Masen has fainted."

Edward leaped from behind his desk and ran past the footmen forgetting that, technically, he could no longer run. When his leg inevitably gave way, Whitlock was there to keep him from falling.

"I need you to ride into the village and find Miss Brandon," Edward said as the two men half-hobbled, half-ran down the never-ending hallway. "Bring her kicking and screaming if necessary," he added when Whitlock's expression turned doubtful. "Whatever it takes."

"Will do," his estate manager muttered grimly. "Are you sure you don't want me to fetch a doctor? Not Gerandy," he said before Edward could protest. "Someone reputable from Thornlie, or I could send to London for a physician."

"And what? Have them purge her? She is vomiting half a dozen times a day already. Bleed her? She is already weak as a kitten." He shuddered. "I trust Miss Brandon. If anyone can help, she can."

"Very well." Whitlock nodded, and Edward waved him on his way after reaching the door to the drawing room where he had left Isabella resting not ten minutes earlier. Limping heavily, he crossed the room, shooing the crowd of worried servants out of the way.

"What happened?" he demanded, kneeling beside his wife's prone form.

"She was heading for the door and just crumpled," Rosalie said, her normally imperturbable expression replaced by a worried frown. "I don't think she hit her head, but she hasn't roused. Here's Mrs Laws with some smelling salts."

"Give them to me," Edward said and then waved the bottle beneath Isabella's nose.

"Isabella? Bella, sweetheart?" he called, his shoulders sagging in relief when she coughed and pushed his hand away.

"What's that awful smell?" She rubbed her nose, her eyelids fluttering open.

"Smelling salts," he said without apology. "You fainted."

"Fainted?" Isabella's eyes widened. "Heavens! That's not like me."

Edward offered her the glass of water Tanya had at the ready, while Rosalie held the ubiquitous bowl her sister required with distressing frequency. Isabella sipped cautiously, and all three released a sigh when the beverage did not make a return appearance.

"Help me up?" she asked, scowling at the sight of her audience. "I feel foolish lying down here."

"Of course." Edward attempted to mask his escalating concern, but this had gone on long enough, and he was determined to find answers. Miss Brandon's skill had been instrumental in saving his life. Surely, she would know of some way to treat his beloved wife.

After ordering the room cleared of everyone but his sisters-in-law, Edward waited for the young healer's arrival. Sitting on the settee with Isabella's head pillowed on his lap, he gently stroked her brow. When he asked where she had been heading before her fall, she sighed with exasperation and explained her intention to visit the necessary.

"I will have a chamber pot and privacy screen brought in here if need be," he said.

Isabella cringed. "Oh, what a lot of fuss I'm creating. I can't believe this stomach upset is lasting so long. It is such a bother."

Edward could think of far stronger words to describe her condition, but none were suitable for polite company.

Miss Brandon arrived a short time later, not quite spitting fire but clearly annoyed at having her attendance commanded. The looks she and Whitlock exchanged as they entered the room were far from civil.

"I apologise for the summons," Edward said, his tone polite but lacking sincerity considering the degree of his desperation. "Isabella has been ill for weeks, but insisted she could manage."

"You should have called me sooner," Miss Brandon said before ordering everyone to leave the room. Edward hesitated, and she turned to face him. "You insisted on having your _henchman_ drag me here." She shot Whitlock a withering look. "Now let me do my job."

To Edward's disgust, he soon found himself pacing in the hallway with only his estate manager for company, as he had encouraged the young ladies to wait in a nearby drawing room. Their father had arrived and offered to sit with his anxious daughters as long as he was apprised of events as soon as there was news. After twenty minutes had passed, Edward concluded it was a good thing Isabella and he were not planning to have children, as he seriously doubted he would survive the births.

The irreverent thought sobered him instantly. He had been operating on the premise that if he protected his wife from childbirth, she would be safe. But Isabella was right. Life did not come with guarantees.

Edward rubbed his brow, and Whitlock gave his shoulder a pat. "I am sure she'll be fine."

Edward could barely muster a nod, his attention focused on the most important person in his world and whatever the hell was happening to her on the other side of the doorway.

"You may come in now, my lord," Miss Brandon said after what seemed an interminable length of time. " _Just_ you." The petite miss who would have made an excellent sergeant-at-arms closed the door firmly in Whitlock's face. One glance at his wife informed Edward she had been crying. If Isabella had contracted a wasting disease, he had no idea how he would go on without her. Taking a seat by her side, he gently entwined their fingers.

"Just tell me what's wrong and how we fix it," he said to Miss Brandon.

"It is not a situation that requires fixing so much as _enduring,_ I am afraid," she replied, her subdued tone offering little comfort. "It appears that despite your best efforts, congratulations are in order."

Edward's frown deepened until her meaning dawned, then his blood ran cold.

Isabella was with child.

"That can't be. Isabella has had her courses several times since she has been ill." Panicked, he turned to his wife. "You _told_ me it wasn't that."

"I didn't know it was possible to have light bleeding during the first few months of one's confinement. But it's true, Edward. We are going to have a baby."

There was no way he could mirror her tentative smile, as despair threatened to overwhelm him. Sickness they could have fought against, but not this.

"How? When? We haven't been intimate in weeks. You have been too ill."

"Your wife is three months' along in her confinement," Miss Brandon said. "She has all the symptoms: tender breasts, urinary frequency, morning sickness—"

"Morning sickness!" Edward shouted. "Try all bloody day and night sickness!"

"It happens that way sometimes." The healer-cum-midwife shrugged. "Now we know the cause of her distress, we can help to ease it."

"Surely there could be _other_ causes for her symptoms." Edward's expression turned pleading. "There is no reason to automatically think the worst."

Isabella flinched, and he rubbed her arm. Upsetting her was the last thing he wanted, but now was not the time for beating around the bush.

"My examination was conclusive." Miss Brandon's voice was surprisingly calm for someone delivering a coup de grace. "I would have suspected she was further advanced in her confinement, but Isabella insists she is only three months along."

"Eleven and a half weeks to be exact," his wife said in a small voice. "The baby was conceived on September the seventh."

Edward stared at her in disbelief. "How could you possibly know the date?"

"It was the night of the Westcotts' autumn dance."

Edward sat back. That was the night he had foolishly overindulged, the night he only remembered in part.

"Oh, God." He shook his head. "In the carriage on the way home?"

"On that note, I shall leave you two to come to terms with your news," Miss Brandon said, heading for the door.

"Don't go." Edward stood. "I have questions for you, many questions."

"Which I shall happily answer if they relate to your wife's confinement. If you don't mind, I would rather not be party to discussions regarding the conception."

"Very well." Appreciating the awkwardness of the situation, Edward rubbed the back of his neck. "Could you give us a moment? You can wait over by the window."

Miss Brandon did as requested, though not before issuing a quiet instruction. "Tread carefully, my lord. Isabella is quite fragile at present, both physically andemotionally. She does not need to be bullied."

"I am not in the habit of bullying anyone," Edward said, grinding the words between his teeth. "And I am quite capable of taking care of my wife."

Miss Brandon raised a brow. "So it would seem."

Huffing in exasperation, Edward returned to sit beside Isabella and took her hand once more. Waiting until she raised her head to meet his worried gaze, he repeated his question in a less accusatory tone. "In the carriage on the way home?"

She nodded and rubbed her brow. Her tired eyes looked bigger than usual in her pale face, reminding Edward, as if he could forget, just how unwell she was. Speaking softly, he continued, "You obviously remember what happened, but I don't. Would you mind enlightening me? Whatever occurred, it is not your fault," he added when his wife's shoulders slumped in resignation.

"You told me you loved me for the first time," she whispered.

Edward closed his eyes. To have forgotten such an important event was unforgivable.

"Go on."

"I told you that I felt the same, and then we were _intimate_. I guess we got caught up in the moment, because when you started to . . . to . . ." He nodded his understanding, and she continued, "I should have said something, or tried to move away. But you normally take care of that side of things, and you were holding me so tightly."

Tears welled in her eyes, and Edward sought to reassure her. "Isabella, I don't blame you, but I don't understand why you didn't you tell me what had happened the next day." Keeping his tone reasonable was a challenge considering his racing thoughts.

"I didn't want to worry you unless it was absolutely necessary," she said.

Groaning, he hung his head.

"What difference would it have made?" she asked.

Edward eyed her wearily, overwhelmed with regret for what might have been. "If I had known, we could have done something about it before it was too late."

She frowned. "Done what? What are you saying?"

Edward beckoned Miss Brandon over and then asked, "Mr Whitlock told me there are herbs that can prevent conception from continuing, though they are not without risk. Do you know of what I speak?"

Miss Brandon's eyes widened, and she took a moment to respond. "I do, though one wonders why Mr Whitlock would have such knowledge. Why do you ask?"

Edward's eyes burned, and he blinked back tears. "It is too late now, but I was explaining to Isabella we might have been able to fix this if she had told me sooner."

" _Fix_ it?" Isabella blinked. "Do you mean by deliberately triggering a miscarriage?"

"I don't imagine it would have been as risky in the beginning, but this far along . . ." He shook his head before turning to Miss Brandon. "Can it still be done?"

"Well, er, it is possible, I suppose _._ " She nodded slowly. "I do not have personal experience with the practice, and I imagine it would be terribly risky. Not to mention the legal and ethical concerns."

"But there is a chance Isabella would survive?"

As far as Edward was concerned, the Masen Curse gave no chances whatsoever.

"She is weak," Miss Brandon said with a frown. "I fear it is too late to act."

"Neither of you will _act_ at all!" Isabella wrenched her hand from Edward's grasp and rose to her feet. When Edward rose and would have steadied her, she pushed him away. "How could you even think of such a thing?"

"To save you, I would do anything."

"Because you don't have the faith to believe the Masen Curse is broken." Isabella's eyes were filled with hurt and anger. "Well, I do, and even if it isn't, I will not let either of you harm my baby. Do you hear me?"

"I am sorry, Isabella. We were only discussing options because we want to keep you safe, to keep you _with_ us," Miss Brandon said. "I would never do anything you didn't agree with." She reached towards her friend but was equally rebuffed.

"If you think I would ever agree to such a thing, then you don't know me at all." Isabella's voice broke, her hands clutched protectively over her slightly swollen belly. "Have you forgotten how much I have longed for a child of my own?"

"A child, we fear, you might not be around to raise," Miss Brandon said.

"So says the two of you, but you can't know that for sure." Isabella backed slowly away, her eyes darting between her husband and her dearest friend as if they were her enemies. "I did not intend for this to happen, but now that it has, I will do everything in my power to keep my baby safe. I am going to my room . . . alone." Her final comment was aimed at Edward.

He flinched. "Isabella, wait. Don't leave." Edward would have gone after her, but he hesitated when Miss Brandon stayed his arm. He could have easily shaken the young woman off, but instead he watched helplessly as his wife walked stiff-backed out the door.

"Let her go," Miss Brandon said. "I fear we have gravely miscalculated discussing this in her presence, well, discussing it at all. It will take some time to regain Isabella's trust."

Time that was suddenly limited, Edward believed, as he surrendered all hope of convincing Isabella not to go through with her confinement. Her maternal instincts were too strong. She would never put her life before the life of her child, _t_ _heir_ child. He should not have suggested it, but he was motivated by desperation.

"I will leave instructions with Mrs Cope for Isabella's care," Miss Brandon said as she collected her things. "If I know Isabella, she will need time to recover from this insult. If you are open to advice, I would suggest you let her come to you when she is ready."

"You think she will?"

"Her feelings for you run deeply. She won't be able to stay away for long."

Even a short time apart from his wife would feel like an eternity, but Edward had little choice. Composing himself as best he could after Miss Brandon's departure, he informed Isabella's family and the senior staff the reason for his wife's ill health. Their congratulations were cut short by the bleakness of his demeanour. Rosalie and Tanya were eager to join their sister, while their father asked for a word in private.

"I take it you are not overjoyed by this news. Is it the timing? I know you have only been married a short while—"

"It's not that," Edward said. "I have to admit my confidence in the Masen Curse's destruction may have been overstated. I am afraid of losing her."

The vicar patted Edward on the back. "That is a common fear for first-time fathers. Don't worry, all will be well. This is cause for celebration, not mourning. Cheer up, man. You are going to be a father, and _I'm_ going to be a grandfather!"

Edward mustered a smile in respect for the older man's enthusiasm, but as the days progressed, he was unable to hide his dismay. The lead-up to Christmas was abysmal. The staff, and surrounding district, were soon aware something was seriously amiss between their leading lord and his lady.

Isabella sent word via her maid that, due to her continuing gastric distress, she would prefer her husband utilise the master suite for the time being. There was no point to both of them losing sleep, she justified, though Edward knew full well that wasn't her true motivation. She didn't come down for meals, nor did she request his presence. Not that he blamed her. Her predicament was entirely his fault.

Rumours abounded, the most popular ones reported back to Edward by his secretary and valet.

 _The viscount is worried for his wife's health as her confinement is turning out to be particularly arduous._

True, but not the whole story.

 _The viscount is angry with his wife for becoming with child so early in the marriage, though how she was supposed to time it better, no one knew._

False, and ridiculous.

 _The viscountess is upset with her husband for endangering her life, though surely she knew what she was getting herself into when she married him. Doesn't she believe her father's assertion that the curse is broken?_

Again false and defamatory, but there wasn't a great deal Edward could do to protect Isabella's reputation.

And finally . . .

 _The viscount didn't truly believe the Masen Curse was broken when he married the vicar's daughter. Neither did he expect the pairing to become a love match. It makes his unexpected distress at her confinement understandable but his behaviour otherwise despicable._

True, though he had known he was in love with Isabella when he married her. As for his actions, there was no denying it—he was a monster for endangering his wife.

~P&P~

A week after receiving the news he was going to be a father, Edward spent another sleepless night alone. He had taken to spending the night hours in the chair Isabella had slept in when she was caring for him. Having spent almost every night since they had wed in Isabella's bed, his was too big, and too lonely.

A movement caught his attention, but he did not look up from where he was staring sightlessly into a glass of water. Alcohol would never pass his lips again, no matter how much he might be tempted.

"Can't sleep?"

He imagined the voice was Isabella's but didn't even flinch. Too many times he had spun towards the door to the mistress' suite only to be disappointed.

"Edward?" Her voice was closer this time, and he leaped from the chair.

"Isabella!" He winced at the volume of his cry. The entire household was on tenterhooks, and it wouldn't take much to rouse them.

She stood in the middle of the room dressed only in a long, flowing gown. He had allowed the fire to die down, the cold biting at his barely covered skin a just reward for his wrongdoings. After grabbing a blanket that lay across the end of the bed, he wrapped it around her shoulders.

"What is it? Are you unwell? Who is meant to be watching over you?" He put his arms around her to protect her from the cold and because, after a week apart, he could not resist.

"I am fine." She lifted her gaze to his, and he tensed in anticipation of her rejection. Rather than pushing him away, she placed a hand against his chest. "I have missed you," she whispered. "I needed some time, but I have missed you so much."

Her voice broke, and he held her as she cried. The tears he had been doing his damnedest to hold at bay for the previous week welled in his eyes, and his shoulders began to shake. Edward had not wept since he was a boy, and the pent-up tears burst free with the force of a flooded river breaking its banks. All the hurt and loneliness Isabella's presence in his life had assuaged, and his fear of losing her had caused to resurface, poured out of him. Embarrassed, he tried to stifle the wrenching sobs but, once unleashed, the onslaught of emotion was determined to run its course.

When Edward finally regained control, he wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his nightshirt and met Isabella's worried gaze. He was grateful he had left only the one candle burning, as he could only imagine the state he was in.

"I am so sorry."

"What for?" she asked, soothing his hair back from his forehead in that way she had, the one that made him feel loved and cared for and wanted all at once.

"For being an utter fool," he said with feeling. "For lacking the courage to tell you I love you without first becoming inebriated." He shook his head at the shameful admission. "For not remembering I had lost control." Cupping her cheek, he imbued his next words with all the sincerity that was in his heart. "For being scared witless and thinking you would _ever_ do anything to endanger our baby."

"Oh, Edward." She leaned into his hand. "I understand your fear, but you made me so angry. What _ever_ happens, it is not the baby's fault. You do see that, don't you?" He nodded, and she continued, "I need to know, if the worse comes to the worst, you will be there for our son or daughter. That you will love our child regardless."

A shudder ran through Edward at the dreadful image her words inspired. It was of him standing alone with a tiny babe in his arms beside her grave. Another sob rose up in his chest, but he forced it down. "I promise I won't blame the baby. But Isabella, I am so afraid of losing you."

"I am afraid of being lost," she said, and her voice caught. "Not that I would be truly lost. God might even allow me to watch over you. But I want to be _with_ you. I want to be a mother to our babe. I want us to live here until we are both old and grey and our children's grandchildren are running up and down the corridors terrorising the staff."

"I want that, too." Edward laughed though the sound was ragged. "I want that so very much."

She grabbed hold of the front of his shirt. "Then you must find the faith to make it possible. I can't do this without you, Edward, and I don't want to waste another day being angry and afraid . . . being apart."

"Neither do I, my love. Neither do I." Holding his wife close, Edward wished with all his heart he was a man of faith rather than one of action.

~P&P~

Gah! I should have mentioned a 'tissue warning' at the start of this chapter. The image of him weeping does me in every time. :(

On a personal note, I just want to stress that the comments in this chapter are in no way meant to be a judgement against anyone who has had to make the incredibly difficult decision not to go ahead with a pregnancy. I think Isabella's opinions are very much in keeping with the era, her upbringing, and her personal views. Having spent many years as a counsellor, I have come to realise that life is often far from fair and does not come neatly packaged in black and white. My heart goes out to anyone who has ever had to face such difficult decisions. I sincerely hope by writing this chapter that I did not hurt or offend anyone.

xx Elise

PS: I have some exciting news! I have created a facebook group for my stories. It is called Elise de Sallier's Stories, and I have already started posting banners and images for Passion and Propriety. Come and join us!


	37. Fulfilment

**It seems I wasn't the only one reduced to tears last chapter. This one is a little easier on the emotions though maybe a tad bittersweet.**

 **xx Elise**

 **~P &P~**

 **Chapter 36**

 **Fulfilment**

"Merry Christmas, sweetheart."

Woken by her husband's greeting, Isabella stretched, knowing full well how much he enjoyed watching her, even when she was clothed. Opening her eyes, she smiled to find him sitting on the edge of the bed, bearing a breakfast tray. Three heavenly days had passed since she was last ill. However, soothing her still-irascible stomach with tea and toast before rising was a precaution she continued to take.

The days since they had discovered she was with child had been bittersweet. Edward's solicitousness was without fault, but he couldn't hide his apprehension. Isabella hoped his mood would lighten now she was finally over the worst of the inaccurately named morningsickness.

"Merry Christmas, my love." She rubbed her hand along her husband's arm. He hadn't changed out of his nightclothes, sparking the hope she could entice him to rejoin her once she had broken her fast.

"My love," he murmured. Putting the tray aside, he leaned down and pressed his lips to her forehead. "I like hearing you call me that."

"I like being able to say it." She wound her arms around his neck and joined their mouths in a tender kiss. "I love you," she added when he pulled back far enough to meet her serious gaze.

A flash of pain twisted his features before he quickly composed them. "I love you, too, darling wife. Now eat up before that delicate constitution of yours decides to rebel."

Isabella huffed. She had never considered herself _delicate_ but could hardly argue the point after the previous two months. Making short work of her breakfast, she excused herself to visit their newly installed and more conveniently located bathing room.

Turning back, she pointed a finger at him. "Don't move."

Despite raising an eyebrow at her peremptory tone, Edward awaited her return as requested. Hoping to take advantage of his relaxed mood, she removed her robe and climbed onto the bed.

"Sweetheart?" Edward's eyes widened when she straddled his lap and began raining kisses upon his face and neck. "Not that I am complaining, but what exactly are you doing?"

"Making up for lost time," she murmured against his lips, her fingers weaving patterns in his overlong hair. He was due for a haircut but had wisely waited until she was up to giving him one, knowing how much she enjoyed doing so.

"What about your condition?"

The fact he stubbornly avoided any direct reference to their child could have spoiled the moment, but Isabella steeled herself not to reveal her lingering hurt. Sitting back, she cupped his face.

"The _baby_ and I are fine," she said. "I consulted with Alice, and she said it is perfectly acceptable for us to resume intimate relations. As long as you don't get too adventurous and start tossing me around the room," she added with a wink.

Edward sputtered before giving way to laughter as she had hoped.

"No wonder Miss Brandon looked at me askance on her way out. You made me sound like a raging beast."

"Hardly." Isabella was relieved he had not baulked at her suggestion. "I merely informed her _why_ I was keen to resume our conjugal relations, though she was rather impressed by my tales of your stamina, prowess, and sheer ingenuity."

Groaning, Edward rested his forehead against hers. "Please, tell me you jest. How am I to face Miss Brandon in public?"

"Of course, I'm joking." Isabella crossed her fingers at the white lie. She had thoroughly enjoyed educating her best friend to the potential joys of matrimony but had no desire to embarrass her husband with the knowledge. Alice had turned her back on the possibility of marriage due to her less-than-ideal circumstances. Neither did she have any intention of giving a man the power to prevent her practising her profession. Still, Isabella had hopes she could entice her friend to at least consider the possibility of forming an attachment.

"Do I get my Christmas wish?" Isabella asked as she slipped the buttons free on Edward's nightshirt and slid her fingers beneath the cloth. Sighing with pleasure at the feel of his bare skin, she looked up to see him watching her.

"As long as you are certain it won't harm you in any way." He stroked his hand from her back to rest against the noticeable swell of her belly. It was the first time he had done such a thing, and the breath caught in Isabella's throat.

"You are not put off by my changing shape?"

"Your shape is perfect," he whispered, soothing the lip she had been worrying between her teeth with a gentle kiss. "You will always be beautiful to me, Isabella, no matter what."

"Even when my belly is big and round?" She tried to keep her tone light but couldn't hide her anxiety.

"Especially then," Edward said, slipping the sleeve from her shoulder. "In the meantime, if you are sure it is safe, I shall very much enjoy taking advantage of the changes occurring in _other_ parts of your anatomy."

Waggling his eyebrows, he lifted his hands to cup her swollen breasts. Isabella was torn between laughter and indignation, but in the end, passion overwhelmed both. It had been too long, and at his gentle but arousing touch, her insecurities, inhibitions, and clothing fell by the wayside . . . as did Edward's. It was only when her hunger for her husband had been sated, and he had reached the limit of his control, that she considered the implications of their changed circumstance.

"Edward," she whispered, holding tight to his shoulders when she felt him preparing to pull away. "There is no need for you to withdraw." Meeting his darkened gaze, she watched understanding dawn in his eyes. For a moment he stilled. Then, groaning, he buried his face in the curve of her neck and abandoned himself to the dictates of his body. Isabella, already well satisfied by his attentions, was surprised when her body responded to the passionate culmination of their intimate reunion in kind. Swept along by the pleasure-filled waves, she could not think of a better way to begin the first of what she desperately hoped would be many Christmases they would spend together.

~P&P~

"Isabella, how lovely to see you up and about . . . and looking a little less green around the gills?"

Her father's uncertainty was understandable, and she was pleased to reassure him she was feeling better.

"It is lovely to be able to attend a service after such a long absence. The church has never looked so good. And what is this I hear about a new bell tower?" she asked while returning the many smiles and nods of greeting sent her way.

"Your husband is a very generous man." Her father spread his hands helplessly, though Isabella knew he must be secretly thrilled at the prospect and by his burgeoning congregation. The church was packed to overflowing.

"Where is Mrs Weatherby?" she asked, taking note of the lack of musical accompaniment. The elderly lady had come out of retirement to replace Isabella as the church organist, but her fingers were arthritic and pained her in the cold.

"Indisposed, I'm afraid, until the winter is passed. I don't suppose _you_ would consider playing?"

"I would love to," Isabella's tone was hesitant, as it wasn't the done thing for a viscountess to perform such a task.

"And so you shall," Edward said.

"You wouldn't mind? Eyebrows will be raised."

He shrugged. "As long as you promise to come and sit beside me during the sermon, I don't care what people do with their eyebrows. I have some very fond memories of hearing you play the church organ."

If it wasn't for their location, Isabella would have responded to the heated look in his eyes in a demonstrative manner, but she limited herself to squeezing his arm.

"Excellent," her father declared, either oblivious to the sudden tension or wisely choosing to pretend ignorance.

While leading the congregation in the carols, Isabella reflected on the previous nine months. Her twenty-seventh birthday had heralded changes she had never expected. Nursing Edward back to health had saved them both—him from an untimely death and her from a life spent alone. If only she felt more confident about the future. Edward never said as much, but it was obvious his faith, or lackthereof, had not wavered, and he held grave doubts about her surviving the birth of their child.

~P&P~

Isabella's belly grew at a rapid rate, as did the frequency of Edward's dark moods.

"Quite aside from all else, you are a large man. It is to be expected you would have a good-sized child," Miss Brandon said, attempting to reassure him during one of her weekly visits. "Isabella is a healthy young woman and in excellent shape for childbearing. I don't foresee any problems, well, other than . . ."

"Other than the life-threatening curse hanging over her head?" Edward finished for her. "I see you continue to share my lack of optimism."

Miss Brandon grimaced but made no attempt to contradict him. "I am normally quite pragmatic," she admitted. "Or I try to be. But I was raised to believe in all manner of mysteries before going to live with my father, not that his high status made him any less intrigued by strange occurrences than the average commoner. If an oddity cannot be explained in a logical manner, I don't normally rush to accept whatever peculiarity has been apportioned the blame. But it's hard to deny the existence of the Masen Curse when the evidence is so compelling."

Edward couldn't argue. "You are not convinced Isabella's father has the right of it? That the curse is broken, and there is no need for apprehension?"

Miss Brandon waggled her head before replying. "I want to believe, but I am afraid my faith has taken something of a battering over the years. Not that it was overly strong to begin with," she added with a wry smile.

Edward could relate, on several levels.

"My motto is to hope for the best but be prepared for anything." She gave his arm a pat. "And that worry is a useless exercise, so let's try not to overindulge, shall we? You have done everything the vicar has asked of you and more. I am sure Isabella and the babe will be fine."

Edward tried to take comfort from her assurances, though he doubted anything would completely silence his fears. Being cooped inside the house for the following two weeks due to persistent snowfalls did not help matters. Although he didn't mind too much, as he wasn't comfortable being away from Isabella for long on those days when the weather permitted him to ride out over the estate. Returning home after visiting one of the mines Whitlock was working tirelessly to improve, Edward felt more like an old man than one in his prime. The cold played havoc on his right leg and left arm, rendering both next to useless and adding to his feelings of powerlessness.

"Why don't you take a hot bath then I shall rub some unguent into your leg?" Isabella suggested when he hobbled in the front door.

"I'll get Dawkins to do it," he muttered as Houghton removed his coat. He hated for her to see him in such a weakened state, despite the fact his being in a far worse state was what had brought them together. Ignoring the hovering servants, Isabella put her arm around his waist and urged him to lean against her as they headed towards the stairs.

"No, that's all right." He pulled away from her embrace. "You shouldn't be assisting me in your condition."

"Oh _pfft_." She lifted his arm and pulled it around her shoulders. "I am only taking a little of your weight, just helping you to balance."

"But I'm the one who's supposed to be caring for you, not the other way around," he grumbled.

"You do, Edward. You cosset me terribly, and you need to allow me the same privilege. I like taking care of you," she said before reaching up on tiptoe to whisper close to his ear, "but if you would rather Dawkins' hands on your body than mine, far be it from me to intervene. I do have rather fond memories of massaging your thigh. I thought I could join you in the bath and get a head start on your therapy."

Edward's step developed an unexpected spring, one he would gladly pay for later.

They had made love often since Christmas, but only at Isabella's instigation, as he didn't want her to feel pressured in any way. For the better part of a week, she had been too tired at night. He wasn't about to wake her in the morning, as he was determined to see she received all the sleep she needed. Only the day before, she had grumbled that it was a pity it wasn't socially acceptable for her husband to join her in taking an afternoon nap, as it would have been the perfect time. She was neither plagued by the queasiness that still occasionally bothered her of a morning, nor overly fatigued.

 _Social acceptability be damned_ , Edward thought as he called for their bath to be drawn. He had always wanted to share a bath with Isabella. That and an afternoon nap sounded like just what he needed.

~P&P~

"How's the leg?" Isabella murmured some time later when they lay sprawled on Edward's bed.

"Never better." He pulled the covers over them and nestled her close to his side, his left hand resting on the curve of her belly. His arm, too, had benefited from the hot bath and even steamier activities in which they had engaged, with not a muscle in his body retaining any tension.

"You do realise we have scandalised the staff again." Isabella sighed, the movement drawing his gaze to her beautiful breasts, made even more luscious by the weight she had gained from her confinement. Despite feeling a distinctive stirring in his loins, Edward resisted the urge to repeat his earlier caresses. He was well satisfied, and her nap had been delayed long enough.

"I wouldn't fret about the staff." He nuzzled her brow while her fingers trailed through the curls on his chest. "They're a forgiving bunch."

"Especially since receiving their generous Christmas bonuses," she said dryly.

Edward chuckled before wondering if she was bothered by her oft-repeated concern. "Are you worried about the harridans of Forkton hearing about our latest escapade?"

"I should be, I suppose." Isabella shrugged a smooth, bare shoulder, the languorous after-effects of their intimate interlude clearly tempering her response. "But considering all the other outrageous goings-on around here, I doubt our indulging in an afternoon interlude will create much of a stir or come as any great surprise."

"True." Edward smiled, recalling her uncharacteristic timidity when she had first broached the idea of moving the nursery from the second floor to the first, the same as their suites. It was a novel idea, one he had not disagreed with. But when she had suggested positioning the baby's bedroom in the same wing of the house as theirs, just up the hallway, in fact, his eyes had widened.

"You can always sleep in the master suite if the noise from the baby's crying is a problem, as I'll put the nursery on the other side of my suite," she had said, her hands clasped together in entreaty. "I just don't want to be away from him at nighttime . . . or from you."

"And I suppose, when he is older, you envision him crawling into bed between us on those mornings when we don't lock the door, just as you did with your parents?" He had surprised them both by speaking of the future, one where their family was intact. Isabella's face had lit up with a smile so wide, he'd had neither the heart nor inclination to deny her request or admit his query had been an aberration. In reality, he feared a far grimmer future where father and baby son comforted each other in their loneliness by night.

Encouraged by his response, Isabella had gone on to broach an even more heretical possibility, one that would undoubtedly shock the local ladies to near insensibility when word got out. Edward, on the other hand, had been touched by her intention.

Tightening his arm around her, he cuddled her delicious curves into his side. "You are still determined to nurse the baby yourself?" he asked. A part of him felt guilty for continuing with the ruse that he possessed any degree of confidence her plans would come to fruition. But he justified his actions with the knowledge Isabella appreciated his optimism, feigned though it might be.

"I know it is scandalous for a viscountess to consider putting her baby to her breast, but my mother never had the benefit of a wet nurse, and we all turned out fine."

"Exceptionally fine," he said and kissed her forehead. The image that formed in his mind of Isabella nursing their son caused a burning sensation at the back of his eyes, just as it had the first time she had raised the possibility. He blinked away the tears that had remained embarrassingly close to the surface since their reunion.

"I thought it the loveliest thing to watch her feeding my sisters," Isabella continued. "I would fetch Mama a cup of tea while she nursed Rosalie, and then I kept Rosalie occupied when it was Tanya's turn two years later. Alice assures me that a healthy, well-fed mother, which I most definitely am, can provide greater nourishment for a babe than a tired-out wet nurse. That is far more important than obeying society's decree, especially one that makes little sense. Wouldn't you agree?"

"Wholeheartedly." Having heard her arguments a time or two before, he hoped to reassure her with his tone.

"I am not overly busy with engagements here in the country, and I am sure I can fit in the events I must attend around the baby's feeding times once I have developed a schedule. Of course, I will employ a wet nurse to assist me if I find it too taxing, plus I will have a nanny to assist me—my mother certainly didn't have one of those." She looked thoughtful. "Are you sure you don't mind waiting another year to take your seat in the House of Lords? I know how important it is for you to involve yourself publicly in the fight against slavery—"

"Not as important as you are to me," he said with a soothing stroke of her arm. Edward doubted his support for the cause would extend beyond the financial, as he couldn't see himself leaving Masen to face the _ton_ without her.

Isabella's smile returned, one he was determined should grace her lovely features as often as possible.

~P&P~

 **Bittersweet but not terribly angsty.**

 **I have done some browsing and found a plethora of gorgeous images of historical mansions and their interiors, carriages, a chaise lounge or two, and some wonderful paintings depicting Regency era life. If you'd like to check them out, come join me at Elise de Sallier's Stories, my new Facebook group.**

 **As always, I love hearing your thoughts and appreciate your words of encouragement no end.**

 **xx Elise**


	38. Surprise

**I am reposting this in hopes the notifications go out to everyone, as only some people have received it (I wasn't one of them!). Also, some people have missed the notifications for Chapters 36 and 37, so make sure you're read them before this one. :)**

 **Your reviews for the last few chapters have been incredibly heartwarming. I am so glad you can all feel the deep friendship these two share underpinning their love and longing for one another.**

 **My new group, Elise de Sallier's Stories, is up and running with 160 members already and lots of gorgeous Regency era images to help illustrate the story. :)**

 **xx Elise**

 **~P &P~**

 **Chapter 37**

 **Surprise**

Something was wrong with Edward, something _other_ than his unsuccessful attempts at hiding his fears for her safety. When winter finally gave way to spring, Isabella hoped his restlessness would ease, and it did . . . to be replaced by an odd furtiveness and sense of suppressed excitement that permeated the entire household.

"Have you any idea what's going on?" Isabella asked Angela after a strange encounter with Edward in his study. Upon noticing her presence, he had rushed her from the room much the same way he had the day she had come across him reading his father's risqué books in the library.

"There is _something_ going on," she insisted at Angela's uncharacteristic silence. "I am sure of it."

"I have no idea what you mean, my lady," the Frenchwoman said, busying herself with collecting pins for Isabella's hair. "What could possibly be going on that you wouldn't already know about? Certainly nothing that _I_ would know anything about, nothing worthy of telling tales, not that I'm one to tittle-tattle. Which is entirely moot, because there isn't anything going on, well, other than the usual goings-on, of course."

Isabella stifled a laugh and changed the subject before the poor woman dug herself an even deeper hole. Something _was_ going on, and she suspected it might have to do with her upcoming birthday. She was relieved Edward had something to occupy his mind other than worrying about how she was coping with her confinement and the risks surrounding their baby's birth. With that in mind, she kept silent, not wanting to spoil his fun by revealing her suspicions, which grew as the days counted down to the middle of March.

~P&P~

"Surprise!"

Isabella gasped, her reaction only partially feigned at discovering the gold drawing room filled with so many of her favourite people. She had assumed whatever secret event Edward was planning for her birthday would occur later that evening, not midafternoon when she came down from her nap.

"Happy birthday, darling." Edward took the hand that had risen to cover her mouth in his before leaning in close to ask, "It's not too much is it? I was worried the shock might be a problem."

"It is fine. _I_ am fine, and thank you," Isabella whispered before smiling at her well-wishers.

Her father and sisters were the first to approach. Tanya awkwardly embraced Isabella around her protruding belly.

"Happy birthday," Tanya said, her smile and greeting echoed by those standing nearby. "This is a bit more exciting than last year, when you wouldn't let us make the slightest fuss."

Isabella pulled a face at the memory. The day had started dismally and then ended with finding Edward close to death in the graveyard, a bittersweet occurrence.

"Of course, she didn't want any fuss back then," Rosalie said. "She was staring down the barrel of a life spent in spinsterhood and servitude."

"Rosalie." Their father gave her a mild look of reproof before kissing Isabella's cheek. "Are you well, my dear? You certainly look well. In fact, you look as wonderful as your mother did whenever she was increasing."

"Increasing is the word." Tanya did the almost unthinkable and patted Isabella's rounded stomach in public. "Are you supposed to be this big at six months? You're enormous."

"Tanya!" Isabella tugged her sister away from the group, shooting her non-family members an apologetic glance. "Don't say such things. Quite aside from it being highly inappropriate, Edward is worried enough about the baby's size without you making insensitive comments."

Tanya's face fell. "I'm sorry. I agree with Papa and think you look wonderful. There's no real cause for concern is there?"

"Your sister is doing marvellously." Alice approached and greeted Isabella with a quick kiss. "Now stop monopolising her, as her guests are growing restless. I fear some of the local ladies will have a conniption fit if they do not receive their due attention forthwith."

Isabella looked up to see a veritable receiving line of locals, society and common, waiting to offer their congratulations. Ladies Brandon and Westcott and their daughters had positioned themselves front and centre, as expected.

"I am sorry, Alice," Isabella whispered in an urgent aside. After convincing her to attend the Westcotts' autumn dance the year before—the first time Grace had socialised with her estranged stepmother, Lady Brandon, and her half-siblings since her banishment—Isabella had promised not to put her friend through anything like it ever again. "I don't know what Edward was thinking inviting them."

"He didn't have much choice." Alice gave a wry smile. "Once word spread he was organising a surprise party, Lady Brandon insisted on being included in the guest list. You did open yourself up to trouble when you asked her and Lady Westcott to be your mentors."

Isabella shuddered. "Only as a means to divert their suspicions. Don't think I haven't had cause to regret my impulse."

"I'll bet." Alice chuckled. "Edward was quite concerned. He even threatening to have them barred—can you imagine the to-do that would have created? But I told him there was no need. I can deliver a snub with the best of them, not that I've had much cause of late. Dr Gerandy's drinking is quite out of hand, and now that I am included in the inner circle of a viscountess, I am actually in good favour. They need me more than I need them," she concluded.

"Even Lady Brandon?" Isabella couldn't imagine Alice's stepmother ever turning to her for help.

"My tonic is the only thing that brings her relief from her rheumatism. Although now the worst of the winter has passed, she may go back to giving me the cold shoulder." Alice shrugged and made way for Isabella's other guests.

The next hour passed pleasantly, with Isabella enjoying the opportunity to catch up with friends, both old and new, while they were served a sumptuous afternoon tea. Showered with more gifts than she had received in a lifetime of Christmases and birthdays, she couldn't help feeling a little overwhelmed.

"Whatever am I going to do with all these candies?" she asked Edward while their guests were busy enjoying a slice of her strawberry and cream layered birthday cake. "I will end up as large as a whale if I eat them all myself."

His eyes widened before he looked with alarm at her well-rounded belly. "I shall dole them out one at a time," he said, then went to fetch Alice and bring her over to where Isabella was seated.

"A chocolate or two won't do her any harm," Alice assured him. "Now go fetch us both another glass of that delicious punch. I am parched from fending off numerous requests for impromptu diagnosis, and I can only imagine how Isabella must be feeling after listening to this lot's vacuous chatter."

"Yes, ma'am." Edward bowed his head before departing, muttering under his breath about being treated like a lackey in his own home.

"He's not really offended, is he?" Alice asked with a marked lack of concern.

Isabella laughed. "Not in the least. He finds your refusal to 'toady' refreshing. In fact, he wants to broach the possibility of your calling him by his Christian name. You are like family to me, and he feels the same way."

"Good Lord." Alice sat back. "What about if I called him Masen? Isn't that more acceptable for a close acquaintance of a lord?"

"Typically, yes, but after not hearing it spoken for a decade, he has discovered he is quite partial to the sound of his given name . . . and he does so enjoy breaking with the traditions he finds tiresome."

"Well, I am all for breaking with tradition," Alice said with a smirk. "Edward it is, then, and of course he must call me Alice in return."

Her wry tone let Isabella know she was quite aware his motivation was to further secure his wife's best friend's standing in the community, as few folks could say they were on first-name basis with a viscount.

"I saw you chatting with Mr Whitlock earlier," Isabella said, looking to where the handsome, fair-haired gentleman was standing in the centre of a circle of Forkton womanhood, his expression somewhat hunted. "No dishes were thrown or insults hurled. Dare I hope there's been some improvement on that front?"

"I wouldn't hold your breath," Alice muttered. "It was a brief encounter, the best kind where the two of us are concerned. I overheard him saying his son was doing poorly, which is hardly surprising considering he insists on engaging London physicians who practise the utmost barbarity. I would have liked to offer my sympathies, but since it went so badly the last time I broached the subject, I was reduced to making some inane comment about the weather."

"At least you tried." Isabella offered her friend an encouraging smile, puzzled by the animosity between the two. Mr Whitlock was the epitome of congeniality—with anyone other than the village healer who might actually do his son some good. Whatever the reason for his prejudice, Edward was yet to uncover it.

"Not sure why I bothered," Alice said. "I still haven't forgiven him for making me ride his horse astride the day you fainted. As if it wasn't bad enough he dragged me out of the Eastons' parlour like I was sack of potatoes, he insisted there was no time to fetch a carriage. Next thing I knew, I was perched atop his mount, without a by your leave, and he had clambered up behind me. The dreadful man received an eyeful of my calves and ankles, as I ended up with my skirts hiked around my knees."

Isabella giggled, then covered her mouth, the action unbecoming for a viscountess.

"Has he ever spoken of it?" she asked.

Alice shook her head. "He wouldn't dare, not after the tongue lashing I gave him on the ride up from the village. To be honest, I don't think the man even noticed my legs were on display, which is hardly flattering, as he was so worried about you."

"Worried about how Edward would cope if anything were to happen to me, you mean."

"That, too." Alice's smile fell, and she quickly reinstated it, but her efforts appeared more forced than natural.

Before Isabella could remonstrate with her friend over her unnecessary pessimism, fearing her husband was susceptible to its influence, Edward announced it was time to adjourn to the ballroom for the afternoon's entertainment. Intrigued, Isabella badgered him for an explanation while he escorted her on the journey, but his lips remained sealed.

Upon discovering the velvet-padded chairs from the dining hall arranged in rows and a string quartet preparing to perform, her eyes lit up.

"A concert. Oh, Edward, how wonderful," she said, barely resisting the urge to reach up and kiss him in her excitement. Seated beside him in the front row, Isabella's smile stretched her cheeks as she listened to some of her favourite compositions played by the expert troupe. Her breath hitched occasionally at the painful prodding of the baby's feet under her ribs, and she ignored the pressure on her bladder for as long as possible. But there was no denying her relief when an intermission was called. Not wanting to miss a single note, she attempted a hobbling run down the hallway on her return from the necessary, one hand supporting her belly in an unladylike manner.

"Isabella, what are you thinking?" Edward strode towards her before steadying her with his hands to her elbows. "There is no need to rush. You're the guest of honour. The concert is not about to resume without you."

"Oh, of course." She shook her head, still occasionally forgetting how much had changed in the last year. Her status in society was no longer one rung above invisible and, more importantly, she now had someone looking out for her needs. "Thank you so much, Edward. This is the best birthday I have ever had."

"I'm glad you feel that way, but it is not over yet." Less concerned with convention than his wife, he placed a kiss on her cheek. "I have something special planned for after the horde departs. A _private_ gift."

"Another gift?" Isabella whispered as they took their seats for the second half of the concert. "But you have already given me this lovely bracelet." She lifted her wrist to show off the colourful charms. "Not to mention organising a party _and_ a concert. I don't need anything more."

"Stop scolding," he murmured, leaning scandalously close to her ear. "It is something we will _both_ enjoy."

"Oh." Isabella fanned her suddenly flushed cheeks.

After the first few trying months, she had been surprised to discover that her confinement, rather than dampening her desire for her husband, as one would have supposed, increased her longing to be with him. It took very little for her imagination to become exercised, and she found herself moving restlessly in her seat as she wondered what he had planned. She just hoped the party didn't drag on too late, as she didn't want to miss out due to fatigue.

Edward was clearly of a like mind, the brevity of his farewells after the concert bordering on rudeness.

"I warned everyone ahead of time that I would not allow you to be overextended," he said when she raised her concern. "This way, they can be safely home before dark, and you and I can enjoy the next part of your gift. Now why don't we go upstairs and take a short nap, then Angela will help you prepare."

"Prepare?" Isabella's imagination embarked on a flight of fancy. In none of the exotic scenarios flooding her thoughts did she picture herself changing into one of her stunning ball gowns or having her hair piled in an extravagant arrangement atop her head.

"There," her lady's maid said as she fastened the clasp of the rubies that matched Isabella's burgundy satin and gold silk and beaded gown. "You look perfect. I shall go tell His Lordship you're ready."

 _Ready for what?_ Isabella wasn't at all sure how she would cope with a ball after her busy afternoon, even with the benefit of a nap. Meeting Edward in the hallway and finding him attired in equally elegant eveningwear, her apprehension increased. But when they entered the ballroom, rather than the crowd she had feared, Isabella encountered a table set for two beneath one of the candlelit chandeliers that illuminated the room. Enjoying a lavish dinner while being serenaded by the musical quartet was the perfect end to a perfect day, or so Isabella assumed.

"This has been lovely," she said as they finished their dessert. "But I am not sure why we needed to get _quite_ so dressed up, or why you chose this location. Couldn't the musicians have set up in one of the dining rooms?"

"They could have, but then we wouldn't have had room to do this." He pushed back his chair and came to stand before her. "Would you do me the honour, my lady?" he asked, extending his hand.

Isabella took it willingly, though she was still perplexed about his intentions. It was only after he had escorted her to the middle of the ballroom that he nodded to the musicians who began playing a waltz . . . a very slow waltz. Isabella frowned as he extended their clasped hands out to his left then placed his right hand at her waist. Her stomach came between them, and she had seen him favouring his right leg earlier in the day. "Are you sure about this?" she asked as they took their first, tentative steps.

"Very," he said with a decisive nod. "I have dreamed about this moment, having watched you dance from the sidelines for long enough. Although it was never to the waltz, for which I am profoundly grateful. We've no audience to worry about, and I have instructed the musicians to maintain a stately tempo. I've been practising, so we should be all right, but I don't care if we're not graceful. I want to dance with my wife on her birthday, even if it is just once around the room."

Tears filled Isabella's eyes, and she quickly blinked them away.

"I can think of nothing I would rather do at this moment than dance with my husband."

Her tentative smile grew wider as they found their rhythm, a slightly halting one, but a rhythm nonetheless. With their gazes locked, they moved together with the music in slow but sweeping circles around the shimmering ballroom. Contrary to Edward's prediction, they managed three entire circuits before his leg threatened to give way. It was more than enough to create a memory Isabella would cherish for a lifetime.

With the magical evening far from over, they sat and caught their breath as the quartet continued to play. Inspired by the music of some of the world's greatest composers, Isabella put her imagination to good work when they eventually retired to their room and added more memories to the ones they had already collected.

~P&P~

 **I decided to leave this chapter on this uplifting note and give our poor nerves a rest!**

 **Unfortunately, I have a very busy day of work ahead tomorrow, so I will have to skip tomorrow's update. I will see you all again on Wednesday.**

 **In the meantime, what's the best birthday present or party you have ever had? I love hearing your stories if you have time to share.**

 **xx Elise**


	39. Arrival

**Happy Valentine's Day! I hope you are able to spend it with someone you love, be that a significant other, family member, friend, or just indulging your own wonderful self. :) 3**

 **I'm glad you enjoyed the surprise birthday celebrations that Edward put together for Isabella. He did well, didn't he? It's been brought to my attention, that I never mentioned Edward's birthday and a year has passed since his arrival in Forkton (how could I forget something so important!), so I may need to write an outtake to rectify my mistake. Thank you for sharing your birthday experiences. It seems most of us aren't big on celebrating in a grand manner, though quite a few have fond memories of teenage parties. One guest reviewer said her best birthday gift was one she gave herself when she paid her university tuition for the year (well done!), while most of us are just happy to have our loved ones with us.**

 **The first part of this chapter is actually the last part of Chapter 37 - Surprise. As everyone is expecting, things are about to get a little bumpy!**

 **xx Elise**

 **~P &P~**

 **Chapter 37 - Surprise - Part Two**

With summer and the birth of her baby approaching, Isabella's hopes that all would be well grew with her rapidly expanding belly, before waning as life became increasingly difficult.

"I don't feel too bad most of the time," she assured Alice, who was measuring her prominent baby bump. "My bladder is constantly under pressure, my ribs feel as bruised as they did when I fell from my mare, and catching my breath is becoming a problem. But that's all quite normal, isn't it, along with having a ravenous appetite and needing to take several naps during the day?"

"Yes, quite normal."

Alice's tone didn't match her words, and Isabella reached for her friend's hand. "You would tell me if there was something amiss? I don't want to be kept in the dark."

"Not _amiss_ exactly." Alice's expression turned thoughtful. "You've just grown at a quicker rate than I would have expected. If I didn't know better, I would say you were further along than say you are, almost due, not with six weeks remaining, but the date of conception is not in doubt."

"Hardly," Isabella muttered, a telltale wave of heat flushing her cheeks. Her newfound propensity for blushing had worsened with her confinement, and she was looking forward to it being a thing of the past.

"It's obvious I am having a good-sized baby, which isn't necessarily a bad thing. He is sure to be robust," she said, ignoring the implications. Isabella didn't need to be a midwife to know that a larger-than-average first-time baby made for a more dangerous delivery, but there was nothing to be done about it . . . unless. "What about if I move more and eat less? A reducing diet like many doctors recommend? If I could slow his growth a little, would that lesson the risk of complications?"

"I think it is better if you continue to take good care of yourself rather than weaken yourself through enforced starvation." Alice smiled before adding, "And _try_ not to worry."

"Since Edward is doing enough of that for the two of us, I am happy to oblige."

Isabella appreciated that he was doing his best to hide his fears, but her husband's acting skills weren't always up to par. At least she no longer held fears he meant their child any harm.

That evening, she mentioned Alice's concern while he traced the outline of a tiny foot pressed against her belly.

"I promise to take good care of our son no matter what happens." The sheen that appeared in his eyes reinforced the dire nature of his predictions.

"You are still afraid?"

"Can you blame me?" he whispered hoarsely.

Isabella ducked her head, unable to offer any reassurance. Her belly seemed enormous, and her belief she would safely deliver was beginning to falter.

For months they had lived in the shadow of what might occur, the possibilities as ominous as the gargoyles that defended Masen Manor. After the success of her birthday, she had insisted upon laughter as often as possible—music, singing, company—whatever it took to lighten Edward's mood and keep her own serene. When they were alone, she found other ways to comfort them both.

As her size became more cumbersome, Edward's inventiveness was put to the test until caution overrode desire. Increasingly content to lie quietly in one another's embrace, there was no denying his gentle touch was now tinged with desperation.

~P&P~

 **Chapter 38**

 **Arrival**

"Edward?"

Isabella attempted to rouse her husband for the second time a half hour after rising from their bed. "Edward, you need to wake up."

"No, I don't. It's still dark." He rolled over and buried his face in the pillow.

Isabella would have smiled, but the pain gripping her stomach made it impossible. Several days of intermittent pains had lulled her into a false sense of security. Though the pressure could be intense at times, the discomfort had been fairly mild. Until now.

"Edward," she said with greater urgency. "I know it's still dark, but you need to wake up. The baby's coming."

"No, it's not," he mumbled, patting the empty bed beside him in an attempt to locate her. "We have three more weeks."

"Tell that to our son." Isabella rubbed her aching back. "I believe he intends making an early arrival."

"What?" Edward bolted upright. "No, no, no," he chanted, disentangling himself from the bed covers and crawling to her side. "We're not ready. _I'm_ not ready. Are you sure? We're supposed to have another three weeks before . . . before . . ."

"It is all right." Isabella gripped his hand. "The baby is coming a little early, which is a _good_ thing, remember?"

In the final weeks of her confinement she had grown so large not even Alice could hide her concern.

"It's happening?"

Isabella nodded, her voice failing as another pain tightened her belly. For the interminable minute and a half that it lasted she gripped Edward's hand and did her best to keep breathing.

"That's it, sweetheart, you are doing fine," he said. The fear had faded from his expression, replaced by a resolve Isabella appreciated every bit as much as his comforting words.

"Thank you," she said, panting when the pain subsided.

Edward nodded stiffly, her words needing no clarification. She needed him to be strong if she was to get through the coming hours, just as he needed her to survive for their family to be complete.

~P&P~

Twenty hours later, Edward's calm exterior had given way to panic and despair. He wasn't sure what was worse, that Isabella continued to labour without rest or reprieve or that she was forced to do so without him by her side.

Alice remained with her at all times, assisted by Angela, who had previous experience attending at births. Every few hours one or other would come to apprise him of her progress, such as it was. Alice's initially optimistic reports that matters were progressing normally for a first delivery had gradually changed in tone.

"She is tiring," the midwife had admitted some hours earlier. "I predict a long labour."

In Edward's estimation it had gone on for far too long already. He had paced until his leg would no longer hold his weight and now sat, head in hand, beside her father. The vicar's prayers for his daughter had begun as eloquent entreaties but now echoed Edward's heartfelt pleas.

"Please, God, be with Isabella and the babe."

"Amen," Edward muttered for the umpteenth time before standing and limping towards his wife's bedroom door.

"My lord?" Mrs Cope, who had climbed the stairs to supervise refreshments for their weary gathering, was the first to query his action. Seeing what he was doing, they all stood—Isabella's father, her sisters, and Edward's constant companion throughout this ordeal, Whitlock.

Spending almost an entire day without seeing his wife, when it could very well be her last, had been both torturous and inexcusable. He should have been by her side the entire time, as surely she needed him every bit as much as he needed her.

"Edward, what are you about?" Isabella's father asked, blocking his path to the door.

"I am going to be with my wife."

"It's not done," Rosalie said, her tone more cautionary than rebuking. "You will be flouting convention."

Edward grimaced. "Since when has that ever stopped me?"

His audience exchanged rueful smiles.

"What about if you inquire first if it is all right for me to enter?" Edward asked Rosalie. "Make sure it's an appropriate time?"

Nodding, Rosalie left and returned shortly. The strain around her eyes increased his sense of foreboding. "Go ahead," she murmured. "But Edward"—she stayed his arm—"you need to be strong _._ "

With his heart lodged in his throat, he entered the sitting room that led to Isabella's bedroom.

"I was on my way to get you," Alice said.

He staggered back. "Why? What's happened?"

"Things aren't going well."

"Is she . . . is she dying?" Edward's voice caught. It was no less than he expected, but he wasn't ready, would never be ready.

"Not yet." Alice shook her head. "But she will if we can't get things moving. She has travailed for almost an entire night and day now with very little to show for her efforts."

"What can I do to help?"

Alice sighed. "I have given her herbs to increase the strength of her contractions, but I dare not risk any more. She is exhausted, but we need to get her up and moving."

"Like walking a mare when her labour stalls?" Edward had assisted under such circumstances, and his hopes rose at the prospect of being able to do something to help.

"Exactly. Although, I'd refrain from mentioning the similarity if you want to keep your head," Alice said. "She is a tad ill-tempered."

Edward managed a wan smile, not that he saw any evidence of his wife's feistiness when he approached their bed.

"Oh, Edward," she cried, coming gratefully into his arms when he sat beside her. "Whatever are we to do? Alice says I must get up and walk around to try and speed things along, but I don't think I can. I am so tired, and the pains are horrendous."

"I know, my love," he said, taking note of her perspiration-soaked nightgown and the damp braids that lay plastered to her head. "I am going to stay and help you."

Her eyes widened before they filled with tears. "But you're not supposed to see me like this. I look frightful."

Edward mustered a smile before kissing her forehead. "You look _beautiful._ Besides, you nursed me when I was in far worse condition, cursing and spitting, as I recall. I think I can return the favour, don't you?"

Isabella looked doubtful, but then her lip twitched. "I promise not to spit, but I am afraid you've corrupted me when it comes to coarse language. The words are so tempting when it all gets too much."

"I'm sure they are." Edward's smile faded when he felt her belly tighten beneath his hand, and her breath came in harsh pants.

"What can I do?" He looked to Alice, who demonstrated how he should rub Isabella's lower back in a circular motion.

"It helps a little," the midwife explained. "But we must get her up and walking around. When the pains strike, roughly every three to four minutes, you will need to support her weight."

Edward did as instructed, waiting until Isabella sagged against him at the cessation of the pain to lift her onto her feet. Steeling himself against her whimpers, he supported the bulk of her weight with an arm around her waist while Angela took the other side. Together they helped Isabella slowly walk the length of the room before pausing a moment and then making the return journey. Every few lengths, another pain would hit, and he held her close while she clung to him.

"I've got you," Edward said when she cried out at a particularly fierce pain. Murmuring softly in her ear, he told her how brave she was and how everything was going to be fine. When the pain had passed, she raised her weary gaze to his face.

"Do you honestly believe that?"

Edward hesitated before answering. His fear had dissipated, replaced by a strange sense of calm. It would have comforted him more if he had understood its source.

"I adore you, Isabella." He offered her his heart in place of the guarantee he couldn't give. "My heart and affection will forever be fixed upon you. Your entry into my life has been the most wondrous thing that has ever happened to me, and I thank God for whatever time he sees fit to grant us."

"Then you have found peace?" She reached to stroke his scarred cheek.

Edward leaned into her hand. "I have found love."

"Love," Isabella said, as he coaxed her into taking a few weary paces. "That's why you're not afraid anymore. You've had what you needed all along . . . not faith, but love."

"What do you mean?" he asked. Isabella had been barely coherent for the past hour, and he could only assume fatigue was causing her mind to become confused.

"First John four, verse eighteen," she replied, surprising him with the clarity of her words despite her breathless tone. " 'There is no fear in love; but perfect love casteth out fear.' We've been worried about a lack of faith when all along we had the answer in abundance . . . _love._ "

As they crossed and recrossed the room, pausing to cling to one another when the pains racked her body, Edward mulled over Isabella's words. Could it be that simple? Could the power of their love overwhelm the curse that had plagued his family for generations?

"It is not just _our_ love," Isabella said some time later whilst sitting in his lap. In the aftermath of another contraction, her head lay against his shoulder while he massaged her lower back. Between his worsening limp and the increasing intensity of her pains, they had taken to sitting down at the first sign of the spasms that tightened her belly. They would need to stand soon, and he was gathering his strength as Isabella's was almost spent.

"God brought us into one another's lives for a reason, Edward." She smiled wearily as he smoothed the damp hair from her brow. "To know happiness, to create a family, to make a difference in the world. I don't think he is finished with us yet."

The hope in his wife's eyes plucked at Edward's heartstrings. Her faith was pure, her courage unfailing, but all he had to call on was his love. His only hope was it would prove strong enough.

"It's time for me to examine you," Alice said, and Isabella whimpered. They had gone through the ordeal once already, an hour after beginning their strange, circular journey. Edward's offer to leave the room had been rejected, Isabella gripping his hand tightly and begging him to stay. He had kept his gaze on her face, murmuring reassurances while the midwife checked to see if any headway had been made. The news had been discouraging, but he hoped for better this time.

"Thank God," Alice murmured a few minutes into the procedure.

"Progress?" Edward stifled a sob when he caught sight of the midwife's relieved smile.

"Progress indeed," she announced triumphantly. "You're almost there, Isabella. Not much longer, and you should be ready to push."

As the pains grew in severity and frequency, Edward wondered how his wife could possibly endure, but with an end in sight, her resolve strengthened. It was only when they had almost reached the end that her courage failed.

"I can't do it," she said, weeping against Edward's shoulder. "I am too tired. I won't be able to push the baby out."

"Yes, you will," he said with a certainty he was far from feeling but that they both needed to hear. "I'll help you. We will do it together."

Isabella pushed away from his chest. "Together?" She eyed him crossly. "The _together_ part came at the beginning and was a hell of a lot more fun than this!"

"Isabella!" Edward shot a wary glance at their bemused audience.

"Oh, they're well aware how I ended up in this predicament," she snapped, turning to face her friend and sister, who had come to assist them. "Alice, Rosalie, I am telling you now, it is not worth it. Don't ever marry, no matter how moon-eyed you may feel towards some gentleman with his flowers and chocolates and words of flattery. You must become spinsters and raise puppies . . ." Her words gave way to sobs as she surrendered to another bout of weeping.

Edward was at a loss. It was one thing to blame himself for their "predicament," as Isabella had so aptly named it, but he'd always had her reassurances to lift him from his doldrums. With the tables turned, he was not sure how to proceed.

"There, there," he murmured, helplessly patting his wife's shoulder.

"I would be prepared for more of the same," Alice advised him quietly. "It can be quite a shock to a first-time mother when they comprehend what must be endured as a result of their husband's attentions."

Edward grimaced, wishing he could suffer in his wife's place. He silently vowed to never again put her at such risk.

The thought brought him up short. For the first time, ever, he had allowed himself to imagine a future where Isabella _survived_ their current ordeal. His faith had grown, and hope was burgeoning in his heart, though he feared it would not take much for it to wither.

Isabella's volatile mood preceded the final stage of labour, or so Alice informed him when it was time to assist his wife back onto the bed. The next torturous examination revealed the welcome news it was now possible for their child to leave the womb and be welcomed into the world. The reality was somewhat less congenial than the phrasing of the event, as it was not named labour for nothing.

"That's it. One more push, and then you can rest," Alice said. Isabella was propped up both by pillows and Edward's kneeling form beside her, close to the end of the bed, from where Alice observed their progress.

Edward might not have been the one giving birth, but he swore he felt every pain as if it were his own. He held grave doubts that his hand would retain feeling after being squeezed so tightly for so long, but he didn't complain. He did not dare.

"Well done, sweetheart," he said when Isabella sagged back against him, soothing her brow with a damp cloth provided by Angela. He could only imagine what the young woman thought of her master remaining by his wife's side when it came to the actual birth. He had momentarily considered Alice's suggestion it was time for him to depart. But the fear in Isabella's eyes when she thought he might leave had convinced him otherwise.

"We will get through this together," he had promised, relieved when Isabella had not rebuked him for the presumption.

"Together," she had echoed, but forty-five minutes of exhausting effort later, he wished there were more he could do to assist her.

"You're doing well, my love." He captured her weary-beyond-measure gaze in an attempt to imbue her with his strength. "You can do this. You can bring our babe into the world for us to love and raise _together_."

"Promise?" She whimpered as another pain built, evidenced by the tightening of her belly and the way her legs trembled.

"I promise," he said, supporting her back.

"Nearly there, Isabella," Alice said, and Edward sighed with relief. "The head is crowning. Just a few more pushes."

"Come on, baby," Isabella said between panted breaths. "Come meet your parents. Your mother is very tired and in need of a rest." Her words ended on a sob, and Edward brought her head to rest against his shoulder.

The next few contractions saw little progress despite Isabella's valiant efforts. Then, finally, after a tremendous effort on her part, their baby's head emerged.

"You're almost done, my love," Edward urged his exhausted wife. She nodded wearily, and then her final push—one so intense and prolonged it must surely have used every last ounce of her strength—delivered their son into the world.

"It's a boy," Alice announced, catching the babe as he slid from Isabella's body. His lusty cries filled the room, and Edward's heart overflowed with relief and pride.

"David," he said with awe. They had chosen a name that broke with tradition, one that hadn't been used by his predecessors. With eyes blurred by tears, he returned his attention to his wife. "We have a son, Isabella, a beautiful boy."

Her answering smile was tremulous, tears streaming from her eyes, but there was no mistaking her intention when she reached for the babe.

"Let me clean him up a little," Alice said, and Isabella leaned back against Edward with a sigh.

"Are you all right? How do you feel?" he asked, suddenly wary.

"I shall tell you after I have held our son." She sniffed, and he hastily wiped his face on his sleeve so he could see clearly enough to wipe away Isabella's tears. His efforts proved futile, for as soon as their son was placed in his mother's arms, they both began to weep once more, their tears mingled with laughter.

"He looks just like you." Isabella's face was aglow as she studied their boy. As if aware he was in his mother's arms, the babe settled, his cries giving way to the odd snuffle.

"He has your mouth." Edward ran his finger down the babe's downy cheek and laughed when David's lips opened and he attempted to suckle his father's finger.

"He's hungry. Should I feed him?" Isabella reached to undo the buttons of her nightgown, but Alice advised her to wait until she had delivered the afterbirth.

"Just a few moments, and then there is a little more work for you to do," Alice said, while Edward and Isabella gazed at their son. After carefully loosening the swaddling to expose the babe's tiny arms, they counted his delicate fingers before searching out his feet and doing the same for his little toes.

"He is perfect," Edward whispered.

"Indeed, he is." Their gazes met, and they reached for each other across the squirming body of their son to share a tender kiss.

"That's enough of that, you two."

Edward bridled at the midwife's peremptory tone until he recalled the danger had not yet passed. The babe appeared in good health, but Isabella's safety was far from assured. After David was re-swaddled, Edward lifted him from Isabella's arms and cradled him gently against his chest before looking to Rosalie.

"Don't you want to be the one to show off your son?" she asked, relieving him of his precious burden.

Edward shook his head. "I shall stay with Isabella, but I'm sure the others would like to meet him. They will have heard his cries and be keen to know what's happening." He referred with pride to his son's healthy lungs.

As Rosalie left the room, Isabella rolled onto her side, whimpering in pain.

"What is it?" Edward asked, instantly alert. "What's wrong?"

"It's just the after-pains," Alice explained, but she frowned when Isabella cried out.

Rolling onto her back, Isabella grabbed at Edward in fright. "There is something moving inside me."

"Don't be afraid. It's only the placenta coming away from your womb," Alice said, washing her hands in preparation for another examination.

"No, it's not." Isabella dragged Edward's hand to lay on her swollen belly, gesturing for Alice to do the same.

Feeling a definite movement beneath his fingers, Edward jerked back. "Another babe?"

Alice nodded, her hands measuring the writhing bump. "Twins. I should have known, but this one was hidden by his bigger brother."

"Twins?" Isabella's body shook as she began to cry. "You mean I have to give birth again?"

"Yes, but it will be all right." Alice offered a tentative smile. "This one is smaller."

Edward bit back a particularly vile oath. He had no idea how he was supposed to survive a repeat of the ordeal, let alone his poor, exhausted wife. Supporting Isabella in his arms, he did his best to soothe her fears while Alice prepared for the arrival of a second babe. Within minutes, the blood-soaked sheets were replaced, the oilcloth beneath having thankfully done its job protecting the mattress. Too weary to move unaided, Isabella clung to Edward as he positioned her further down the bed.

"Don't raise her up yet," Alice said. "I shall need to determine how the baby is lying."

Isabella grimaced with pain as Alice performed the examination. With all concerns regarding dignity and propriety long since forgotten, Edward kept his eyes on the midwife's face.

"What's happening?"

For weeks he had been assured the babe's head was facing the correct way—downwards—and had dropped to the entrance of the birth canal, but this second babe could be any which way.

Alice's shoulders sagged. "The babe is lying crossways, and his arm is in the birth canal. He is holding my hand."

"And?" Fear lodged in Edward's chest at the midwife's tone.

"I can't save them both."

 **~P &P~**

 **I know, what a dreadful cliffhanger, but this is where the chapter ended in the book. Forgive me?**

 **I can't believe we're almost at the end of this tale. Thank you so much for journeying with me. I know that most of you only read Edward and Bella stories, but I am curious as to how many of you will return when I post the fanfic version of the next book in this series? It is called Duty and Desire, and it tells Alice and Jasper's tale. I hope you will give it a go.**

 **xx Elise**


	40. Blessed

**I'm so sorry to have caused you all so much stress. I feel like the meanest fanfic writer ever! At least you didn't have to wait too long for this, the final chapter, of Passion and Propriety.**

 **xx Elise**

 **~P &P~**

 **Chapter 39**

 **Blessed**

Isabella could barely think for the pain and mind-numbing fatigue, but there was one thing of which she was certain. She might have known of this new babe's existence for only a matter of minutes, but she already loved him with the same fierce protectiveness she felt towards her firstborn son.

"Save the baby," she gasped, her words almost drowned out by Edward's plea that Alice do everything in her power to save his wife.

"Isabella." He turned towards her, his face a mask of pain. "I need you. Our son needs his mother. _Please_."

A sob caught in her throat, and she begged her friend. "Can you not try to save us both?"

Isabella knew from previous discussions with Alice that a transverse presentation was the worst possible in terms of successful delivery.

"I'll try." Alice's expression was grim but determined. "But you'll need to be very brave. I shall have to turn the babe around inside the womb to force a breech delivery. It's going to hurt a great deal."

"Do what you have to." Isabella reached for both of Edward's hands as he wrapped his arms around her shoulders.

The next few minutes were the most torturous of Isabella's experience. The pain seemed to go on forever and was beyond bearing, and yet she bore it with Edward's help. When Alice finally announced she was done, Isabella opened her tightly screwed eyes and looked in amazement at the babe's tiny body, delivered all bar its head.

"It's a girl!" Edward declared in astonishment.

"What's wrong with her?" Isabella was dismayed by the babe's bluish tone and utter stillness. "Is she dead?"

Alice shook her head. "Not yet, I don't think. But your pains have all but ceased, and she is not getting enough sustenance. Your body thinks its work is done."

"Then pull her out!" Isabella cried. "Quickly, don't just leave her there to suffocate."

"I can't." Alice's voice was filled with sorrow. "Her neck and head are too delicate. You need to _push_ her out, but without any contractions to assist you—"

"I can do it," Isabella insisted, her exhaustion dissipating as determination took its place. "Edward, help me to get more upright. Angela, lift me from the other side."

When all three were in position, Isabella took a deep breath and then bore down with all her might, desperate that her daughter should live. Everything hurt, from the top of her head to the soles of her feet, not to mention the tearing sensation from her body's attempt to expel a second babe. But she ignored the pain and the fact her body had long since spent its very last drop of energy. Digging deep, she found reserves she had not known she possessed . . . to no avail.

The babe's head did not budge.

"Oh, please, God, please." She took a moment to catch her breath. They were so close. It couldn't end tragically now, it just couldn't.

"You can do it, sweetheart," Edward murmured close to her ear, strengthening her with his support.

"Begging my pardon, my lady, but I have a suggestion," Angela said. "I don't know if it's an old wives' tale, but I've heard that giving a hearty scream can help with the birthing."

"I've been trying my best _not_ to scream," Isabella said with an exasperated huff. "I didn't want to upset Edward."

"If it will help, I'll scream right along with you," he said.

Isabella half-laughed, half-sobbed. "Alice?" She looked to her friend and was met with a rueful shrug.

"It can't hurt, and at least we're all prepared for it. Take a deep breath, bear down, and give it everything you've got."

Isabella nodded, sharing a quick glance with Edward, whose jaw was clenched. She wanted to take a moment to tell him how much she loved him, but their baby girl needed to be born—needed _air—_ if she was to survive.

Ladies were not encouraged to scream, and Isabella could not recall ever having done so. But the blood-curdling cry she let loose whilst pushing down with all of her remaining might would have done a banshee proud. With a satisfying pop, the babe's head was born, and Isabella collapsed back against Edward.

"Well done," he cried. "You did it!"

Tears rolled down Isabella's cheeks while she waited for the sound they all longed to hear . . . her daughter's cry.

Long seconds passed, seconds that felt like minutes. Then suddenly, the sweetest sound filled the room. Far from David's lusty wails, their daughter's cry was tremulous, but it was music to Isabella's ears.

"Will she be all right?" she asked between panted breaths, her sorely abused body making known its opinion of her ordeal. "Was she harmed in any way?"

"I don't think so," Alice said. After tying off the cord, she wrapped the little girl in a hastily procured blanket before placing her in Edward's arms. "She is small, and will need to be kept warm, but she seems in good health."

The placentas came quickly after the second babe was born, and Alice assured Edward that Isabella's bleeding was not excessive.

"Can I hold her now?" Isabella asked once she was settled back on the pillows. Taking her daughter into her arms, she rested her head against her husband's shoulder while he sat with his arm around them both.

"What are you going to call her?" Alice asked.

"Elizabeth," Isabella said. "After Edward's mother, and Renee, after mine."

Wrenching her gaze away from their daughter's perfect features, she looked at her husband. "We did it."

" _You_ did it." He bent down to kiss first her forehead and then their daughter's.

An astonished Rosalie entered and returned David to his very proud father. With the twins lying side by side in their parents' arms—the larger boy with his shock of auburn hair like his father and the dainty girl with the stubborn chin and hint of a dark crown—Isabella had never known such joy.

" _We_ did it," she said. "Our love broke the Masen Curse."

~P&P~

Watching over his two sleeping babies, and with his arm around his wife's shoulders, Edward resisted the urge to pinch himself. The nightmare he had lived in fear of for so long had not come to fruition, but it was still hard to believe this wasn't a dream. Isabella was tired, as could only be expected, and Alice had warned him it would take time for her to recover from giving birth not once, but twice, as well as carrying two babies to term. But she seemed well and radiated happiness. As did Edward.

A little over a year had passed since he'd made the pain-racked journey to his home, cursed, uncared for, and with nothing to look forward to but death. Now he had a family, friends, and a future that stretched before him like an endless sea of possibility, courtesy of Isabella.

She smiled up at him, and with his heart overflowing with love, he bent down to press his lips to hers.

"Thank you," he whispered. "For everything."

"You are very welcome," she said, nestling against his side. "Although I think we might have God to thank for a second miracle, or would you call it a third? You survived your terrible injuries, I beat the Masen Curse, and we have been given a daughter as well as a son, both healthy and adorable. That's at least three miracles, wouldn't you agree?"

"I have lost count." Edward laughed and hugged her close.

All the sixth Viscount Masen knew for sure was he was a blessed man, indeed.

~P&P~

 **Darn, I'm all weepy again! I didn't realise this last chapter was such a shorty. If I had, I would have published it with the one last night and saved you all some stress. At least it was wonderfully good news all around, as both Isabella and her babies survived!  
**

 **I'm going to take a short break, but I hope to start posting the second book in the series, Duty and Desire, next Wednesday. I'm not going to try daily updates again, as it's a little intense, but I am hoping to update at least three times a week. The story takes up about three weeks after the end of Passion and Propriety (I can see I need to get on and write a mini epilogue to cover those three weeks!) Even though Duty and Desire is Jasper and Alice's story, Edward and Bella feature quite prominently throughout, and I was thinking I could write outtakes of any scenes you would like to have from their POV.**

 **Thank you so much for your encouragement and support for this story. I am so glad I decided to create a fanfic version of it to share with you all. I've had a ball. I'll hopefully have the original version up on Amazon very soon for anyone who is interested.** **I have also been working on a contemporary story (eek!) and I'm hoping to pluck up the courage to post the first chapter this weekend.**

 **If you're interested in seeing all the lovely Regency era paintings and pictures I've been posting in my Facebook group to illustrate this story, come join me in my new group - Elise de Sallier's Stories. I've put the link on my profile page.**

 **xx Elise**

 **x**

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 **Additional Note for those people interested in childbirth stories:  
**

 **The birth of Isabella's twins was depicted exactly how the birth of my own twins went, right down to the transverse presentation of the second baby, overhearing the doctor saying he didn't think he could save us both, having the baby manually turned (ouch!) and the breech delivery of a blue baby, all bar the head with no more contractions. The only difference was the doctor, the midwife, and my poor husband were all crying at this point. I was the one who came up with the idea of screaming to try and push the baby out. I'd read it in an ancient midwifery book when I was doing some research, of all things. I may have forgotten to mention I was about to scream, thereby frightening the life out of everyone in the room, but it worked, and my second son (I have identical twin boys) was born unharmed. He took quite a while to breath, and the doctors were worried he might have brain damage from lack of oxygen, but we received our own miracle, and he was absolutely fine. He was a little bigger than his six pound older brother and weighed in at seven and a half pounds, which is quite a lot for a twin. He's actually a doctor now, studying to become a surgeon. If you're wondering why they didn't just do a cesarean, the boys came a few days early, and we got caught in a tiny country town with next to no facilities and an inexperienced GP who'd only delivered a couple of other babies before. I had to do it without pain killers or modern interventions, so it was a lot like giving birth back in the scary old days.**


	41. Together

**Thank you so much for your continued support for this story. I did my best to reply to all the wonderful reviews I received for last chapter, but if I accidentally missed you, please know that your encouragement and love for this story has overwhelmed my heart.**

 **I mentioned in my review replies that quite a few readers felt the final chapter of this story was a bit rushed, and I tend to agree. I remember wanting to write a 'fanfic-worthy' epilogue but was discouraged from doing so by the publishers who felt I should leave my readers wanting more so they would buy the next book in the series. I should have argued harder for my case, as one of the things I love the most about fanfic stories is the satisfying and detailed epilogues and outtakes, something that is often missing from conventionally published stories. So, as a way of saying thank you to my wonderful readers for all your support, I have spent the last few days writing another chapter. I won't call it an epilogue, as it only covers a short period of time without giving us glimpses into the future. My reason for this is because the next book in the series picks up just a few weeks after the end of Passion and Propriety. While that story is told from Alice and Jasper's Point of views, we get to see lots of Edward and Bella as the characters interact with one another. I am also hoping to write outtakes of various scenes from Edward and Bella's POV as we go along, depending on which ones you guys want to see the most.**

 **I hope you enjoy this additional peek into the lives of our new parents.**

 **xx Elise**

 **PS: The updated version of this chapter was betaed by the wonderful SunflowerFran. Thank you for your patience with me!**

 **~P &P~**

 **Chapter 40**

 **Together**

Upon waking, Isabella performed her usual cat-like stretch, only to freeze in place when she was assaulted with what felt like hundreds of individual aches and pains. For a fraction of a moment, she wondered, what on Earth, had happened to her. Had she been run over by a carriage?

Her breath caught, as her memory returned in a rush. Babies! She had birthed two of them, at the same time no less, and after far, far too many hours of toil. No wonder she was wracked with discomfort, but it mattered not. She was a mother and still alive to revel in the joy of it.

After forcing her somewhat swollen eyelids open, she scanned the room, a smile curving her lips when she encountered her beloved Edward. He was seated in a padded chair beside her bed, a precious bundle in his arms. A murmur escaped her dry and cracked lips, and his gaze lifted from their sweet babe to meet hers.

"You're awake," he said, his answering smile quickly replaced with a worried frown. "How are you feeling? Can I get you anything? Alice is resting, but she's left some tonic to help with your pain. Is it very bad?"

Isabella shrugged, then winced at the slight movement. She wanted to sit up, have a desperately needed drink of water, or preferably tea, and then hold her babies, but she wasn't sure she could even lift herself off the mattress. It appeared her reserves of fortitude had been well and truly expended during the arduous delivery.

Seeming to sense her need for assistance, Edward rang the bellpull, and Angela entered almost immediately.

"Is my lady awake?" she asked in a whisper.

"Yes, can you take Elizabeth, and I'll help her sit up," Edward replied, answering Isabella's unspoken query regarding which babe he was holding. As the exchange was made, Isabella watched closely, an odd feeling of covetousness rising in her chest. _She_ wanted to hold her babies, both of them.

Concerns over her son's whereabouts prompted her to ask in a croaky voice, "Where is David? Is he well?"

"Very well," Edward said, as he placed an arm around her shoulders and helped ease her up the bed into a more upright position. Before she could ask any more questions, he held a glass of water to her lips, and she sipped at it greedily. "David Charles is being watched over by your father, who is bursting with pride at having his first grandson named after him. Mrs Cope is assisting him, as she refuses to leave the boy's side. I'll have Angela bring him in in just a moment."

"Please do." Isabella slumped against the pillow with relief, her gaze flitting between her doting husband and the baby girl she had only briefly held after her birth, along with her brother, before exhaustion overtook her. "How long have I been asleep?" she asked, perturbed by the daylight streaming through the gap in the velvet curtains. The last she recalled, it was night, though, which night she was hard pressed to say.

"You've been resting a goodly while," Edward said before tenderly kissing her cheek. "You needed it, and many more hours, I'd say, after the effort you expended."

"Yes, but the babies must be hungry. Have they been crying? Why didn't someone wake me?"

"Alice said your rest was more important and it would do the babes no harm to wait."

Isabella knew as much from having assisted other women in the hours and days after they had given birth. Her milk wouldn't fully arrive for a few days, but still, she didn't like the idea of her newborns needing comfort and her not being the one to provide it.

"Can I hold her?" She stretched her arms towards Angela, sighing with relief when little Elizabeth was placed in her arms. The tiny girl was sleeping, but as if she sensed it was now her mother's arms in which she rested, she made snuffling noises and burrowed into Isabella's embrace.

"Oh, she's so precious," Isabella said, her voice tinged with awe. "And so lovely. Aside from her being red-faced and crumpled looking, you can see she is going to be a beauty."

"Just like her mother," Edward said, perching beside her on the edge of the bed and placing his arm around her shoulders. Isabella copied her daughter's action and nestled into her husband's arms. Together, they gazed down upon their sleeping girl. It was a moment of pure peace and contentment, only disrupted when some of the more severe pains wracking Isabella's body insisted on making their presence known. She shifted uncomfortably, not wanting to jostle her sleeping daughter but desperate to find a measure of relief. It was to little avail, and she was unable to suppress a whimper.

"Oh, my lady," Angela, who had been watching on indulgently, rushed to the dresser and returned with no doubt, a glass of one of Alice's dreadful tasting concoctions. "This will help, I'm sure of it."

Isabella steeled herself against what was to come and imbibed the tonic in several, quick gulps. It wasn't too terrible, and she detected a hefty and welcome dose of willow bark, amongst other tinctures proven efficacious in treating pain and swelling. Isabella didn't need to look to know that she was suffering from a great deal of swelling in places that had never before known such trauma before.

"Tea?" she requested hoarsely, grateful when Angela provided a warm and well-sweetened cup to chase away the bitter taste of the herbs. She was nervous about trying to hold the cup while Elizabeth rested in her arms, but Edward steadied it for her.

"Can you bring in our son, please Angela?" he asked the maid. "And let Reverend Foster and Mrs Cope know that they should both retire. I'm sure Lady Masen's sisters will arise soon and can assist us if need be."

"Yes, my Lord," Angela said before bobbing a curtsey and going to do Edward's bidding.

"I've encouraged everyone to get some rest while you were asleep," Edward explained to Isabella. From the dark rings still evident beneath his eyes, she feared he had neglected to take his own advice.

"Have _you_ slept at all?"

"A lay beside you, but only for a little while," he admitted with a shrug, his gaze returning to his daughter's cherubic face. "I can't bring myself to leave them for more than a few minutes at a time. It all seems like a wondrous dream from which I'm afraid I shall wake." Tears welled in his eyes, and his broad shoulders began to quake.

"Oh, my darling," Isabella murmured, wishing she had a hand free with which to comfort him. "It is real, and we are safe, all three of us!"

"I know," he said, hastily wiping at his eyes when Angela returned with their newborn son. As soon as he'd composed himself, he took him from her outstretched arms with surprising confidence. "It's just everything I dared to hope for and so much more," he said, giving Isabella a wan smile. "I am beyond grateful to you and your astonishing strength and courage. And to Alice for her determination and skill, to Angela for her stalwart help and timely advice,"—he looked to the maid who smiled shyly in response—. "To Whitlock for his unwavering support, your sisters for their presence and encouragement, to all the staff for their steadfast assistance, and last, but far from least, to your father for his unceasing prayers and immovable faith. I suppose I should also include The Almighty in my list, as without his answering those prayers, they'd have been for naught. Do you think Forkton could do with a cathedral, as I honestly don't know how else to show the good Lord my gratitude?"

Isabella chuckled, relieved when the ensuing movement did not cause her quite as much pain as it would have before taking the herbal posset. "Darling, I think there are more practical ways we can express our thanks than by building a towering cathedral in the middle of the village."

Edward smiled in response. "Yes, I'm sure you're right. It's probably a good thing I haven't mentioned the possibility to your father just yet, or he'd have the plans already drawn."

This time, Isabella's deeper laugh elicited a groan. "Oh, please don't," she said, breathing in quick pants.

"Tell your father or make you laugh?" Edward asked with concern.

"Both," she said with a wry grimace. "As much as I love to laugh with you, I fear now is not the most opportune time."

Whether it was their laughter or the jostling that accompanied it, both Elizabeth and David chose that moment to awake. Unfortunately, neither elected to do it quietly. Within a matter of seconds, the scene transformed from a tender moment between the happy couple to one of noisy chaos. Isabella couldn't help but flinch at the racket. To her increasing bemusement, Edward stood smoothly and began pacing the floor with David held securely to his shoulder. All the while, he soothed him with gentle pats to the back and encouraging murmurs.

Exactly how many days had she been asleep for her previously inexperienced husband to gain so much proficiency with a newborn?

"Your husband is a natural, isn't he?" Angela said as she came to assist Isabella with the now-flailing, Elizabeth. "He's going to make a wonderful father."

"I'd say he already is," Isabella replied, her tone one of awed satisfaction. "Now help me get this little lady situated for nursing at one breast, and then I suppose we could try her brother at the other. I doubt he'll be placated for long."

With some painful shuffling, Isabella moved to a more central location on the wide bed while trying to soothe her fretful daughter. Once she was settled, Angela placed pillows to either side of her mistress, angled back towards her body. With both Alice's and Angela's help the night before, Isabella had bathed and changed into a gown that buttoned up the front with this very situation in mind. With only one hand free, she fumbled to undo the buttons, hesitating when she reached a level that would expose her naked breasts. This was going to be awkward, and she wondered if it would be better for Edward not to view her in such a manner.

Before she could express her concern, he returned to her side and helped Angela position both babies on the pillows with their heads toward Isabella's middle and their tiny bodies tucked beneath her elbows.

"This should work," Edward said with a pleased nod.

"Yes, but there is no way for me to nurse them discreetly," Isabella said, expressing her concern. "If anyone were to enter, they would get quite the eyeful."

"Hmm, you're right," Edward said, looking over to the door to her sitting room. "We should draw the curtains, but only on this side of the bed, as otherwise, it will be too stuffy for you all. I shall also ask Houghton to advise the staff not to enter without being specifically invited in. Will that be sufficient?"

Isabella smiled in both agreement and admiration for the way her husband was applying his vaunted problem-solving abilities to their intimate familial situation. She was still a little concerned about him being offended or in some way put-off by seeing her feeding their babies. Before she could raise her concerns, the little people in question both reached the limits of their patience and let their displeasure with being kept waiting known. With her maternal instincts outweighing her embarrassment, she lowered the front of her nightgown and set to helping Elizabeth attach to her right nipple. She had assisted other new mothers before, but it was far more challenging, and painful, being the recipient of the process.

"Ouch!" she cried, tears springing to her eyes. "I didn't know it was going to hurt quite so much."

"May I assist you, ma'am?" Angela asked over the sound of David's increasingly lusty cries. "She has only caught the tip of your nipple, which is very sensitive. You need to get as much of the aureole into her mouth as possible to ease the discomfort."

"Oh, yes, of course," Isabella murmured, recalling having given the exact same advice. She pressed a finger to her breast, effectively breaking the seal her daughter's rose-red lips had formed around her nipple. The little darling squawked her displeasure, and Isabella used the opportunity to capture her aureole and feed as much of it as would fit into her daughter's mouth. Elizabeth's gums clamped down with surprising force but causing only a minimum of pain this time. Before long, she was suckling away, and seemingly very content.

Isabella would have liked to gaze upon the arresting scene, but her ravenous son was making his demands know . . . loudly.

"It's all right, my boy," she cooed and repeated the same actions she had performed for Elizabeth, until David, too, was happily nursing. Only then did Isabella release a sigh of contentment. Sadly, it was short-lived, as she considered what a sight she must make. Fearful of what she would find, she glanced up and was instantly flooded with relief to see her husband watching her, his expression one of pride and adoration.

"You never cease to amaze me, my darling," he said, perching carefully on the bed beside his new family. "Just when I think I cannot love you more, or be prouder of your accomplishments, you prove me entirely wrong."

"It doesn't bother you, to see me like this?" she couldn't help asking.

"Of course not! You're nurturing our children with your own body. What could be more natural or more wondrous?"

"He's right, ma'am," Angela said with a tired-looking smile on her face. "On the Continent, no one would think anything of you feeding and caring for your own babies."

"It will be frowned upon here, I am afraid," Isabella said a little sadly. "I can only imagine the hullaballoo that will erupt when it is discovered you supported me during the births," she said, looking to Edward. "If only there was a way to keep the matter private."

"I don't see why we can't," Edward answered. "Mrs Cope has assured me she kept everyone away from the time I entered your room until well after the babes were born, and Angela's not going to tell anyone, are you?" he added, eyeing the lady's maid firmly.

"Not a whisper, my lord. You have my word." Her heartfelt declaration was followed by an even heartier yawn, and Isabella urged the exhausted young woman to go find her bed and not to leave it until she was thoroughly rested.

"Thank you, ma'am. Young Bess will attend to you in my absence. She has experience with caring for her younger siblings, so she should be able to assist you with the babes as well."

Isabella smiled her gratitude, for both Angela's earlier help and her thoughtfulness. With the twins coming a full, three weeks early, the nanny she had chosen from the many she'd interviewed had not yet arrived to take up her post.

"About the nanny?" Isabella asked once Angela had departed, but before she could complete her query, he interjected.

"It is all sorted, my love," he said, reaching to stroke a wayward strand of hair from her face. "I've sent carriages to collect both Mrs Spalding from Thornton and Mrs Madison from Fromley. I believe she was your second choice for a nanny?" She nodded, relieved at his forethought. He continued, though a little more hesitantly. "Please don't fret, but upon Alice's advice, I have also sent for a wet nurse, also from Thornton. She's a young woman Alice recommended." Isabella opened her mouth to protest, but he rushed to add, " _Not_ that you can't or won't nurse our babes yourself, but Alice is concerned that after such a taxing labour and dual delivery, your body is in dire need of rest and recuperation. There is also the matter of having _two_ mouths to feed, not one, and I fear that our son is going to prove himself a hungry fellow, indeed. Have you seen how robust he is? He weighed in at well over seven pounds, which wouldn't be trifling for a singleton!"

Isabella took a moment to gaze down at her new babes while absorbing Edward's pronouncement. David was considerably larger than Elizabeth, but she didn't seem overly tiny, well, not dangerously so.

"How much does Elizabeth weigh?" she asked, still considering how she felt about sharing nursing duties with another woman.

"Just a little shy of six pounds, so also goodly sized. They weighed in at over thirteen pounds together."

"Oh my," she said with a huff of air. No wonder her poor body felt sorely abused. Sharing the task of providing their nourishment was probably wise.

In the time they had been speaking, Elizabeth's suckles had reduced to one every few seconds, then one once in a while. Eventually, they stilled altogether, and her mouth popped open, as her head lolled to the side, a trickle of thin-looking liquid trailing from her lips. Isabella covered herself but left the little girl where she lay, as her daughter was clearly resting comfortably.

Edward chuckled. "She looks positively drunk!"

"Yes, well you'd know more about that than I," Isabella said, and they shared a smile.

"Oh, I think we both benefited from my folly. Although, next time, I think I'd prefer to be fully cognizant of the moment my precious wife conceives."

"Next time?" She stared at him, mouth agape. She hadn't even begun to recover from their current experience of child-bearing, and her previously reluctant husband was already planning an addition to their family? Isabella feared she had created a monster!

Appearing to realise his mistake, Edward quickly reframed his words. "Well, only if _you_ want there to be a next time, of course. And only once you are fully recovered, and there is absolutely no risk, whatsoever, to your health."

At this, Isabella chuckled and reached to cover his hand where he had laid it to rest on their daughter's, now swollen, belly. "You know my opinion on life and its risks, but I think waiting until I am fully mended is not only a wise precaution but entirely necessary. Besides," she said, her voice softening as she looked down upon David, who was mimicking his sister with his intermittent suckles and sleepy demeanour, "for the foreseeable future, I think our hands are going to be filled taking care of the babies we already have."

"That they will be," Edward said in agreement before leaning in to capture his wife's lips in a tender kiss.

"I still can't believe we have _two_ babies," she said, shaking her head. "And they are both well, as am I, except for some necessary aches and pains.

"It's not what I was expecting, that's for sure," Edward said, his tone momentarily sombre, before he surprised Isabella by laughing. "Actually, we _were_ expecting twins, we just didn't know it!"

"It's a pity Elizabeth stayed so well hidden, as the knowledge might have eased your fear that the curse had not been broken."

"Possibly," Edward said, eyeing her tenderly. "Although, I probably would have just worried myself silly over the risks inherent with a multiple birth."

Edward moved his hand and stood, but before Isabella could ask him about his intentions, he kicked off his shoes. While she watched on, he removed his jacket and loosely tied cravat, and then he climbed onto the bed and lay down beside her. With his careful assistance, they moved the babes, so they were lying safely between them. Then, holding hands, they closed their eyes and let sleep overtake them.

Isabella would need nourishment and assistance to rise, and the babes were sure to need their napkins changed before long, but for now, the new family took a well-earned rest in the knowledge they were safe, loved, and together.

~P&P~

 **I hope that feels a little more satisfying. We'll be hearing more from our beloved couple soon.**

 **If you're interested, come join me in my Facebook group, Elise de Sallier's Stories (link on my profile if you have trouble finding me).**

 **I have now posted the first chapter of my new, contemporary story, Viral Sensation, and I'd love you to give it a try. I'll be posting chapter 2 in a few days. Here's the summary :**

 **When video of the worst day of Bella's life goes viral, her pain and humiliation become fodder for an endless supply of memes and gifs. Internet fame brings her nothing but heartache until Edward Cullen, her celebrity crush, arranges to meet her. Is it a prank, or is Bad Day Bella's life about to turn around for the better? (Angst, fluff, twists, and a guaranteed HEA)**

 **I hope to see you all on Wednesday when I post the first chapter of Duty and Desire.**

 **xx Elise**

 **Thank you for all kind words and for sharing your own, incredible birth experiences, whether they be natural, cesarean or via adoption. I realised afterwards that my comments were misleading, as I forgot to explain that the 36 hour part with all the endless walking and three hours of pushing was for my daughter's birth. My twin boys came quite quickly, which was why we didn't make it to a city hospital with proper facilities and had to do things the scary, old-fashioned way. I cheekily combined both experiences in this story for poor Isabella!**


	42. Outtake Part 1

**Hello dear Passion and Propriety readers,**

 **As promised, here is the first outtake from the next story in this series, Duty and Desire. This scene occurs eight weeks after the twins are born, and fits in after Chapter Two. It was supposed to be a short, sweet (well, smutty if I'm honest) lemon, but it took an unexpected turn when another character's story demanded to be heard. Part 2 - the smutty half, will be up as soon as it's written.**

 **Only about a quarter of you have made the leap from this story to the next. I understand that the majority of us are most comfortable reading Edward and Bella tales, but I can assure you, our lovely couple feature strongly in Duty and Desire. As mentioned, there will be plenty of outtakes which won't make sense if you're not reading the other story. So...please, please come join us. *flutters eyelashes endearingly***

 **Thank you to the lovely NKubie for her last minute beta skills. Mwah!**

 **xx Elise**

 **Outtake – Part 1**

 **Isabella and Angela - Insecurities and Disclosures**

Isabella stood in front of the full-length mirror in the bathing room that adjoined her bedroom suite, wrapped in a large, linen towel. After taking a steadying breath, she squinted her eyes to obscure her vision and then let the towel drop. Her naked form was not something she had viewed in such a manner before becoming a viscountess, as the only looking glass she had owned was modest in size.

When she had first had opportunity to see herself thus, after her nuptials and before the conception of her twins, she had been pleasantly surprised by the shape her form had taken. Seeing so much pale, creamy skin at one time, had been somewhat alarming, but she'd been generally pleased by the view. Of course, she had previously been aware of the gentle slope of her shoulders, but she had been impressed by the perkiness of her full, round breasts with their pale pinkish tips.

The slender curve of her waist was testament to the far from sedentary life she had led prior to entering the state of matrimony. She had imagined scheduling time to perambulate the garden on a regular basis would be wise now that she had such wondrous cooks tempting her with their culinary delights on a thrice daily basis, five times a day if one included morning and afternoon teas. Cook's scones, that she insisted on serving with the sweetest of jams and richest of clotted creams, could add inches to one's waist per sitting!

The breadth of Isabella's hips had been reassuring, as a woman committed to the industry of child birthing did not need the disadvantage of boyishly slender proportions. As for her legs, they had been something of a marvel, being both long, for her height, and decidedly shapely. No wonder Edward was so taken with them!

Post-partum, the view was somewhat different, and she winced while observing the more obvious changes. Two months after the birth of her beloved twins, her belly was far from flat or even just mildly curved, and she seriously doubted it would ever be so again. Her navel no longer appeared quite as a navel should, while the lower half of her abdomen was crisscrossed with alarmingly coloured stripes. Alice assured her the marks created by the stretching of her muscles and skin, striations she named them, would fade eventually. In the meantime, Isabella was faithful in applying the ointment her friend had created for the purpose of speeding the recovery of sorely abused skin that had been stretched almost beyond its limits.

Her breasts were larger and the nipples quite a bit darker, but she couldn't see either of those things being a problem. That her breasts were also situated a little lower on her chest was not as welcome a change. Turning to the side, she acknowledged, with a dispirited sigh, that her bottom also appeared to have journeyed closer to the ground. Not a great deal, mind you, but enough that she suspected Edward would notice. Would he care was the pertinent question.

"My lady?" Angela queried her mistress's antics from the doorway into her dressing room, and Isabella scurried to cover herself with a robe. "Is anything amiss?"

"No, I'm just indulging in a bout of self-consciousness, that's all." Isabella smiled to cover her embarrassment over being caught, relieved that she did not feel a tell-tale flushing in her cheeks. The absence of her blush was not something she would mourn.

"There is no need to feel concerned, ma'am," Angela said as she came to assist Isabella with her hair and dressing. "You are a beautiful young woman who has only very recently given birth to not one, but two babies. I swear not a word of criticism for your appearance will be spoken or is warranted."

"Thank you, Angela," Isabella said, her smile feeling a little crooked. "There is only one person's opinion I am concerned about; my husband's. As long as he still finds me appealing, then the rest is of little relevance."

Rather than rush to assure her mistress that she had nothing to worry about in that regard, Angela ducked her head and busied herself with folding the towel she had collected off the floor. Her actions left Isabella feeling even more insecure than she already was.

"Angela?" she found herself prompting. "You think my husband might find me less appealing with all the changes that have been wrought in my body?"

The beautiful, red-haired French woman, spun to face her. "I don't understand why it matters, my lady. You have done your duty, twice over. Your husband seems to genuinely care for you so, surely, he can leave you be for a little longer. It's barely been eight weeks."

"Angela!" Isabella exclaimed, though not in rebuke. Added to her surprise at the vehemence of her lady's maid's tone was no little shock when she detected tears glistening in the younger woman's eyes.

"I'm so sorry, my lady," Angela responded, bowing in contrition. "I never should have spoken out of turn. Please don't be cross with me?"

Isabella was at a loss. She had never seen her typically unflappable maid in such a state of emotional distress. "Of course, I'm not cross with you," she said softly. "Come and sit with me and tell me what has you so perturbed."

Isabella wrapped her robe more tightly around her middle then departed the dressing room for her sitting area where she took a seat on her comfortable chaise lounge. She patted the space beside her and waited for Angela to join her. When the maid she counted as a friend, and whom she credited with helping to save little Elizabeth's life, remained silent, she reached for her hand.

"Please, my dear, tell me what is bothering you?"

Angela looked up, her eyes swimming with unshed tears. "You are ready to resume relations with His Lordship?"

Isabella's eyes widened. "Well, yes," she murmured, perturbed by the intrusiveness of the query. "I was actually going to ask you to find the diaphanous nightgown I wore for my wedding night, as I've not worn it since, and I thought it might make tonight special."

Angela's shoulders began to quake, as her emotions, which were clearly running very high, appeared to get the better of her. Why it should bother the girl that Isabella was ready to be intimate again with her husband was beyond her reckoning. Unless . . .

"You're not still worried that the Masen Curse is in effect, are you? With everything that has happened, I feel confident it is well and truly behind us.

Angela shook her head. "It's not that, ma'am. I just don't understand why you must put yourself through such torment when it is no longer necessary. It made sense to me that you wanted to seem appealing to His Lordship _before_ you conceived, for you were doing your duty. Your husband hasn't been neglecting you or depriving you of his presence, just as he so kindly kept you company once it was known you were with child, and not for any salacious reasons, as he is a true gentleman in every regard. I understand that men have needs and urges that cannot be indefinitely denied, but he seems like such a decent man. Surely, he would grant you a longer reprieve if you requested it?"

An awful sense of foreboding trickled down Isabella's spine. She had assumed, from the time Angela had accidentally been privy to a rather joyful if highly intimate moment between her and Edward, that her maid understood how entirely willing Isabella was when it came to fulfilling her marital duties. Considering some of the antics that she and her still quite newlywedded husband had regularly engaged in prior to the twins' births, she could only assume Angela had not reached that conclusion because her perception of such matters was coloured by a previous, unpleasant, experience.

"Angela, I would like to speak freely with the understanding that the contents of our conversation are to remain solely between the two of us. Agreed?"

Angela nodded while wiping at her eyes with the corner of her full-length apron. "Agreed, ma'am. I know I wasn't always as discreet as I should have been in the beginning of my employment, but I hope you know that you can trust me entirely. I hold you very dear in my heart, my lady, and I would never speak a word to betray you."

"Thank you," Isabella said with a smile. "I hold you dear to me, also, and think of you more as a friend than an employee. What I am going to say will never leave this room, for _both_ our sakes."

Angela sniffed, then straightened her shoulders and faced her mistress head on.

"Angela, I don't just endure my husband's attentions, I enjoy them, thoroughly and without reservation. He makes me feel things I didn't know it was possible to feel. Wonderful things."

Angela's mouth fell open. "But . . ." she shook her head as if to clear her thoughts. "But only the man, or the gentleman, receives pleasure from . . . from . . ."

"Conjugal relations?" Isabella finished for her.

Angela nodded while twisting the corners of her apron into a knot with white knuckled fingers.

"That is often the case," Isabella said softly in agreement. "In part, I believe, because women are not educated as to the possibilities. They are discouraged from even considering the idea that their bodies can bring them pleasure or have any purpose other than being used by their husbands as a vessel for his satisfaction and the bearing of his children. But it's not true, Angela. I know this from personal experience. One only has to read certain passages of the Bible, the Song of Solomon in particular, to see that a travesty has been inflicted upon modern womanhood, in the name of Christianity, that is false, repressive, and cruel. Even the apostle Paul, who was no lover of women, said the marriage bed was undefiled and that husbands _and wives_ should not deny each other the pleasure of their bodies. If there was no pleasure to be had for the wife, there would be nothing her husband could have denied her."

While Angela was listening intently, her demeanour spoke of one at odds with the message. Her face had paled, her shoulders were tensed, and her hands shook in her lap. Isabella's heart sank, and she scolded herself for not detecting the truth of the matter far, far sooner.

"Angela, my dear girl, have you had experience with conjugal relations in the past. Have no fear of judgement, as none whatsoever shall pass my lips."

"I have, my lady," Angela whispered from between trembling lips.

"Were you a willing participant?"

Angela's head began to move from side to side before Isabella had finished asking. The tears she'd been trying to hold at bay spilled over her lower lids and coursed down her cheeks. When her shoulders began to shake with the sobs she could no longer repress, Isabella pulled the young woman into her embrace.

"There, there," she murmured as Angela wept on her shoulder. "You poor, dear, girl. It is all right. Nothing can harm you here. You are safe now."

Isabella had long suspected that Angela had an interesting story to tell. The Frenchwoman's elocution, demeanour, and occasional lapses when she revealed glimpses of a superior level of education, all spoke of an upbringing at odds with her supposed station. Isabella had surmised that there were quite probably unsettling events in her past, as she was, essentially, a refugee from a country with which they were at war. Angela never spoke of her home, and when Isabella had asked after her family, she had revealed, in a tight-lipped manner, that she had been orphaned at an older age. Isabella had received the distinct impression that her maid did not wish to speak of past events, so despite being highly curious, she had endeavoured not to pry. Now, she regretted not attempting at least a gentle probing. The poor woman had been holding onto a terrible trauma, one about which Isabella could barely bring herself to think.

Only when Angela had cried herself out and then straightened to wipe her face clean, did Isabella speak again. "Would you like to talk about it?" she asked.

Angela shook her head and sniffed back the last of her tears. "It was some time ago now, almost five years, and I'm doing my best to put it behind me. Most days I don't think of it, but sometimes a situation will bring it to mind, and it's as if I am back there, being treated abominably, all over again. I was only seven and ten," she added softly.

"Oh, my. That must have been truly dreadful for you," Isabella murmured, her heart breaking for her friend. "If you ever _do_ want to talk about it, please know that I am a good listener, and my shoulder is always available if you need to have another cry. I would imagine one does not get over such an event easily."

"Multiple events, I'm afraid, and no . . . one does not."

The sadness in Angela's eyes was wrenching, but Isabella also sensed a considerable degree of resolve.

"I'm not sure what is the right thing to say, if there is such a thing, but I can appreciate a little better your concerns for _my_ wellbeing," Isabella said with a gentle smile. "Is there anything I can say or do that might put your mind at rest?"

Angela sat still and silent for a long moment, staring at her hands. Then she drew in what appeared to be a fortifying breath and met Isabella's concerned gaze.

"Is it true, what you said? Can women experience the same _feelings_ from intimacy as a man?"

"Yes, but we are very different creatures from the male of our species, especially from the sort of heartless scoundrel that would take from a woman without asking. From my understanding, a woman needs to feel safe, cossetted even, for those feelings to arise. Her husband must be patient with her, considering more than his own needs."

"Oh." Angela's shoulders slumped. "Then it must only happen in the rarest of situations, and something someone such as I am unlikely to ever experience."

Isabella sighed, realising she could not refute Angela's assessment.

An idea formed in Isabella's mind. An idea so shocking, she wondered if she dared entertain it. Frowning with deep thought, she rapidly perused the vast stores of Scriptures she had dutifully memorised over the years, hoping to find any that might justify or merely allow for the course of action she was considering suggesting. When she was able to bring together several, seemingly disparate notions, her resolve was strengthened.

"Are you familiar with the commandment that we should love others as we love ourselves?" Isabella asked, prompting Angela's sweetly curved brows to rise.

"Of course," she answered with a one shouldered shrug.

Isabella grimaced. "I am sure it could be argued that I am taking this wildly out of context, possibly sacrilegiously so," she added in a muttered undertone, "But I believe I have had a revelation that may be of assistance."

Angela said nothing, but her expression betrayed curiosity along with an understandable degree of perplexity.

" _I_ think," Isabella said with a tad more conviction than she felt, "there are situations that justify a woman taking matters into her own hands. With such frightening experiences in your past, I believe there is justifiable cause for you to take control of your own needs in this area. In so doing, you may even find a measure of comfort, of healing, to know that your body is truly your own. I imagine it could be quite empowering to discover that your body can give you pleasure and confidence in an area where you have only experienced pain and degradation." Isabella's own confidence waned a little, and she asked with some temerity, "Have I shocked you too badly with my suggestion?"

"No . . ." Angela drawled the word, her brow furrowed in thought. "But what exactly would taking care of my _own_ needs entail?"

Isabella drew in a deep breath. "Have you ever touched your body? I mean, for reasons other than cleanliness?"

Angela's eyes widened. "But that is a sin, my lady. A grievous sin."

"Is it? Really? Says who? I've never read a Scripture that explicitly forbids such action. I suppose there are some that could be interpreted in such a way, but who were they written by? I'll tell you who . . . stuffy old patriarchs who didn't hesitate to take multiple wives, hand maidens, and even concubines to their beds for heaven's sake. They certainly made sure they got their needs met, well into their dotage, and they weren't overly fussy about who met them!"

"But the New Testament, ma'am—"

"Yes, yes . . ." Isabella waved a hand. "One husband, one wife, which I am in total agreement with. Then you have Paul saying it is better to marry than burn with passion, but our modern times have put such horrid constraints upon women that they are not even supposed to relieve the flames once wed! How is one supposed to give something freely of which they are not allowed to partake?" Realising she was crossing over into soapbox territory, Isabella curtailed her growing rant. Coming to a decision, she raised her pointer finger. "My advice to you, Angela, is that you give yourself permission to become acquainted with your own body. In so doing, you may discover those methods that would assist you to achieve the sort of pleasure and comfort that was brutally stolen from you and that most men take for granted. It will only ever be a private matter, so you have no need to fear censure. If you are concerned about judgment from the Almighty, I give you full rein to lay the blame solely at my feet. I am speaking in my role as both a vicar's daughter and viscountess, so I feel I have at least a modicum of authority."

Angela's eyes could not widen any further. "You really think that is allowable, ma'am?"

"Well, I've just granted you permission, so, er, yes," Isabella said with a decisive nod, though she did squirm in her seat a little. She didn't _think_ she was condemning either of them to an eternity of torture for daring to assume a woman was allowed a measure of control over her own body and emotions, but she was well aware the church's patriarchal leadership would have an alternative opinion.

A feeling of peace descended upon Isabella's shoulders, as another Scripture came to mind. Love did not judge or find fault. Love covered—or healed as she had heard it interpreted—a multitude of sins. And how badly had Angela been sinned against? How deeply must her wounds go? How deserved was she of love, and comfort, and the reassurance that her body was, indeed, her own?

Strengthened in her resolve, Isabella set about educating the bemused young woman as to exactly how she might go about achieving the desired result. The hours she had spent snooping in her husband's collection of erotic literature, quite unbeknownst to him, of course, put her in good stead. She even offered up her own bathing suite, as the door was lockable from the inside and privacy could be assured.

"Now, I'm not saying that any of this, in any way, mitigates the trauma you have experienced," Isabella said while Angela sat contemplating her mistress's shocking but tantalising disclosures. "Nor will it magically dissolve any residual fears you may have towards the opposite sex or matters of intimacy—"

"No, ma'am, it's all right," Angela interjected, her expression thoughtful but also calm. "Those fears are slowly fading, especially now that I am a part of a household where every individual is treated with respect and none would take advantage of another for fear of our benevolent master's predictable response."

The two women shared a smile in acknowledgment of Edward's fierce and protective manner.

"But you think following my advice may help?" Isabella prompted, secretly worried she had over-stepped any number of boundaries.

"I do," Angela said with a nod, her expression surprisingly optimistic before it turned a tad mischievous. "And I look forward to apprising you of the results."

"Very good," Isabella said, raising her nose and affecting the loftiest of tones. Then both young women dissolved into a fit of delighted, if admittedly saucy, giggles.

 **~D &D~**

 **That was heartbreaking and not a tale I had expected to tell for some time, but it seemed the _right_ time to disclose some of Angela's past. As for my liturgical gymnastics, fingers crossed I don't get struck by lightning! Keeping these characters beliefs and behaviours fitting for the times can be a challenge. All I can say is thank God for progress and women's suffrage, although I did spend many years in a church that taught much the same rubbish as they were spouting two hundred years ago. Thankfully, my darling husband didn't take a blind bit of notice, as he is a firm believer in the adage 'Happy Wife, Happy Life'!**

 **xx Elise**


	43. Outtake Part 2 - Fruitful

**Here is the second half of the outtake I posted last weekend. It was a little more difficult to get into our lovely viscount and viscountess' heads than usual, as I am writing such varied characters at the moment. In the end, I decided to have a little fun with this one, and the words began to flow. I hope you enjoy it.**

 **I'll be posting it both in Duty and Desire and the end of Passion and Propriety, for those readers who haven't yet moved on to the sequel.**

 **xx Elise**

 **PS: Unbetaed, so please forgive any mistakes.**

 **~P &P . . . D&D~**

 **Outtake Part 2 – Fruitful**

For the second time that night, Isabella found herself staring into the full-length mirror in her dressing room. This time she was clothed, barely, in the diaphanous gown she had first worn on her wedding night. Shaking her head, she wondered how she had ever found the courage to wear it considering her, then, virginal state. Determination had played no small part. It had also helped that she hadn't tormented herself with a prolonged viewing, barely pausing to glance in the mirror before positioning herself to await Edward's arrival. The problem, on _this_ occasion, was that the view had most definitely changed. Angela's assurance that no one would judge her for those changes gave only modest comfort.

Tears stung Isabella's eyes, and she seriously contemplated going in search of the voluminous coverall Lady Westcott had deemed suitable for a new bride to wear when enduring the attention of her husband. A half-laugh, half-sob escaped her lips, when she recalled the gown had been sacrificed to make a surprising number of tiny garments for her babies. While the 'tent-gown,' as she had named it, was no longer an option, she did have other, less-revealing, nightgowns. But before she could go in search of one, she caught sight of her husband's reflection in the mirror, standing in the doorway behind her. She spun to face him.

"Sweetheart?" he murmured, his voice hoarse. "What are you wearing?" He shook his head. "I mean, I know what you're wearing. It's the gown you wore on our wedding night, a night I shall never forget and not only because I got to see you in that stunning gown. What I meant to say was _why_ are you wearing it? Are you . . . is it . . . can we . . .?"

Harried, Isabella reached for her robe, but before she could do more than grasp it with her fingers, Edward stepped forward.

"Don't cover yourself . . . please?" He gently pried the robe from her clenched fist. "I adore the way you appear in this gown, but the last time you wore it I was too afraid to look my fill."

"The last time I wore it, I had a smooth belly and pert, well, pert _everything_ ," Isabella said in a voice that shook. "Now I'm all saggy and droopy and I don't know how you can bear to look at me."

The expression that appeared on Edward's face might have seemed comical if Isabella's emotions weren't so fraught.

"Ahhh . . ." he murmured, seemingly lost for words before he gave his head another shake. Then he pulled her unyielding form into his embrace. "My darling wife, I can not only _bear_ to look at you, I am honoured to do so." He pulled back and waited, insistently, until she met his gaze. "As far as I am concerned, you are the most beautiful woman in all the world, and I give thanks, multiple times daily, for the blessing of being your husband. You must never doubt that my affection and admiration are wholly sincere."

Isabella's defensive stance melted, a little. "You're not just saying that?"

"To what end? Maybe it would be best if I show you," he said, drawing her with him toward the bedroom.

Isabella's earlier panic flourished. "There are too many candles lit," she said with far more alarm than the situation warranted, but unable to help herself. "I don't want you to see me like this. The light is too harsh."

Keeping his head deliberately averted, Edward left her standing by the bed and went around the oversized room, snuffing or dimming every lantern or candle bar the one beside the bed. Only once they were both lying upon it, did he look her way.

"Better?" he asked.

She nodded, feeling childlike relief. He sat and removed his robe, leaving him wearing only his short breeches. Then, after tenderly kissing her lips, he took hold of the hem of her gown. "May I?" he asked, slowly skimming it up her legs.

Isabella nodded, even though a large part of her wanted to burrow beneath the bedclothes and hide. Thankfully, Edward took his time getting to the area of her body about which she was most concerned. In a leisurely manner, he kissed and caressed his way up the length of first one leg and then the other. Her thighs were not as slim as they had once been, but that didn't seem to bother him, as he praised the creaminess of her skin, the softness of the short—well, compared to his—hairs upon her legs, the shapeliness of her ankles and knees. He even professed to liking the appearance of her feet!

Isabella assumed, once he had pushed her gown that high, the he would pause at the shadowed juncture of her thighs. Surprisingly, he by-passed it, smoothing his hands along her well-rounded hips and pushing the gown until it bunched up just beneath her breasts.

Her belly, her stripy, saggy belly with its misshapen navel, was now on display, and she felt a return of the tears that had plagued her more since the birth than ever before in her life. Alice assured her it was perfectly normal and not permanent, but she didn't appreciate this change in her temperament one iota. Nor did she like the changes in her body, no matter how much she told herself they were mere proof of motherhood and nothing of which to be ashamed.

Edward glanced up at her, his expression filled with too many emotions for her to decipher them all. Disgust did not _seem_ to be amongst them. His focused shifted back to the belly she had, so far, managed to keep hidden from him since soon after the births of their babes. He appeared to study it, his brow furrowed and gaze intent. She had relaxed, a little, from his earlier kisses and compliments, but the longer he remained silent, the more her muscles tensed. Then he did something unexpected. He bent his head, so he could begin placing kisses, deliberately placed kisses, along each and every red or silvery stripe. In between the kisses, he murmured words that took a moment for Isabella to discern.

"Thank you," he whispered. "Precious . . . beautiful . . . life-giving . . . courageous . . . miraculous."

Tears of a different kind pooled in Isabella's eyes. When she blinked and sniffed them back, Edward looked up to reveal his own eyes were similarly afflicted.

"Do you know what I see when I look at these marks that adorn your stomach?"

Isabella shook her head, though she was beginning to suspect.

"I see the wonder of creation, the miracle of life, and the means by which you have made me a happier man than I had thought it was humanly possible to be. I _love_ you, Isabella. I love you for _you._ I love you for giving me our two, miraculous children. I love you for loving and desiring me despite my many scars and flaws. Do you know how it makes me feel whenever you kiss my scarred cheek, or shoulder, or leg?" His question appeared to be rhetorical, as his torrent of words continued. "The first time you kissed my cheek, I assumed it must have been an aberration, but you did it at every opportunity, even when you were cross with me." They shared a watery laugh at the memory of their first week of marriage when he had driven them both to the brink of insanity with his passionate kisses that always came to an abrupt halt. "You accept me for who I am, my Bella, for _all_ that I am, faults and all, visible and otherwise. What sort of husband would I be if I were to do any less? Although, keep in mind," he said, pausing to place a long, savouring kiss to her navel, "I do not see these as faults but trophies, hard won and worthy of celebration and display . . . only to me, of course. If another man were to witness your beauteous naked form his death would swiftly follow."

Isabella laughed, but she suspected he was not actually speaking in jest. A question hovered on the tip of her tongue . . . _Are you sure you are not bothered by the way I look?_ But after his heartfelt words, she knew it would be wrong to voice it. Instead, she summoned her much-vaunted courage and opened her arms—and heart.

Edward came willingly, removing her gown, as he moved up her body. His head lowered to hers, but before their lips met, he whispered, "Thank you, my love. I _know_ it's not easy coming to terms with changes in one's body."

"You make it seem much less of a problem than I had built up in my mind," she said before surrendering to his kiss. They had shared many since the twins' births, but they had endeavoured to keep them somewhat chaste so as not to overly stir their passions. Tonight, they were under no such constraints, and the kiss soon deepened. Their mouths opened to one another, lips tasting and teasing while their tongues entwined. Isabella stroked her husband's warm, bare back and shoulders, loving the breadth and strength he possessed. When her hands reached the waist-band of his breeches, she slid her fingers beneath the cloth, cupped his equally muscular backside, and squeezed.

Edward groaned and thrust against her. His hands had been busy doing some caressing and stroking of his own, though he had been wary of her enlarged and, admittedly, tender breasts. It saddened Isabella, but her nipples were so sensitive from the multiple feedings required of them each day, she deemed it a necessary restraint. She was also cautious of any action that might induce her milk ducts to decide it was time to release their bounty!

When Edward put a hand to the waist of his breeches and began to push them down, Isabella realised that, in all her maudlin dilly-dallying, she had forgotten a very important step in her preparations.

"Wait," she said.

Edward froze. The look in his eyes when he lifted his gaze to hers was nothing short of pained. "You have changed your mind?" he asked, sounding awfully like a little boy about to be deprived of his sweets.

"No, I just forgot I have to do something first."

"It cannot wait?" Edward asked sounding incredulous.

Isabella smiled, secretly flattered by his eagerness. "It will only take a moment, but then we shall be able to enjoy ourselves without fear of repercussions or need for restraint." She gave him a pointed look, willing him to discern her meaning.

"Oh?" Edward murmured, sounding puzzled. Then his eyes widened to match her expression. "Oh! You spoke with Alice and obtained the, er . . . sea-sponge?" he whispered the last two words as if they were describing something scandalous. Considering they were planning on using the typically mundane item in a manner that many would deem sinful, she understood his caution.

"Yes, indeed," Isabella said, sliding down the side of the bed until her feet reached the floor. "I've even had a practise run inserting the sponge, so I know I can do it, but I have settled on lemon juice rather than vinegar. Alice said either would be satisfactory, and I prefer the aroma. There is such a thing as a lemon-scented perfume, but no lady, in her right mind, would choose to go about smelling like salad dressing."

Edward swallowed a snorted laugh and ended up choking on it. When he had finished coughing and spluttering, he helped himself to the glass of water Isabella liked to have on hand beside the bed. Leaving him to sort himself out, she opened the bottom drawer of her night chest where she had hidden her prophylactic supplies behind a bundle of scarves. They consisted of an irregular shaped sponge, a lemon, a knife with which to cut it, and a shallow bowl in which to squeeze the juice and soak the sponge. There was also a small jar of honey Alice had given her to rub onto her perineum—that was a word one never used in polite society—to aid in the healing of the tear she had received at the twins' births. To Isabella's relief, despite the inconvenient stickiness, the honey had worked wonders, and she had healed remarkably well. Next to the honey was another jar, this one containing an herbal oil and lard-based unguent. It was also courtesy of Alice but created for the purpose of massaging into her striations to smooth their bumpiness and, over time, lessen their distinctive colouring. Isabella found it very soothing. Being a tad anxious about resuming marital relations after enduring the rigours of birth . . . twice—not something one forgot in a hurry—Isabella had concluded the creamy emollient would come in handy for a purpose for which she seriously doubted it was designed. Although, she couldn't be the _only_ wife in the Masen District who had put it to such use . . . surely?

"What have you got there?" Edward asked, standing behind her and looking over her shoulder at the contents of the drawer. "It looks like you're gathering supplies for a picnic."

It was Isabella's turn to burst out laughing, although the thought had crossed her mind.

"If Angela comes across my little stash, I shall tell her I am still suffering from cravings . . . highly unusual cravings."

"I'll say," Edward muttered. "Although, you almost have the all the ingredients for lemon butter."

"Ooh," Isabella exclaimed, liking his suggestion. "That's an even better excuse, though why I'd be making it here in my bed chamber would be harder to justify."

"Fixings for a sore throat remedy?"

Isabella rolled her eyes. "Of course. Why didn't I think of that? Although I'd have to follow it up with a feigned cough, and we both know I am not much of an actress."

Edward wrapped his arms around her from behind and rested his chin on her shoulder. "You could tell her it's none of her business . . . or, here's a novel idea, just tell her the truth. You trust her, don't you? The two of you seem to have grown even closer since she was such a help at the births."

Isabella turned to face her husband and nestled herself in his embrace, her nudity, and the flaws it revealed, no longer a problem.

"I do trust Angela," she said. "In fact, I trust and like her so much, I think it is time I found myself another lady's maid."

Edward lifted his head from where he had been nuzzling her neck. "Why would you want to do that?"

"Because, then I could offer Angela the role of my companion. She is a lovely, well-educated young woman whom, I have just discovered, has an even more tragic past than I suspected, and I would like to see her reduced circumstances reversed. Would you mind? I have _more_ than enough income to sponsor her return to society. I thought a new wardrobe and an allotment, so she is no longer forced to work for a living, wouldn't go astray. What do you say?"

"I say that is a perfectly acceptable idea if you so wish it, but may we speak more of this at a later date?" Edward hands had drifted down to her buttocks, and he emphasised his words by cupping the round globes and pulling Isabella up and against his, now straining, erection. "It has been at least three months, and I own to a degree of impatience."

She giggled, a sound she had not expected to utter this night after her earlier fit of self-doubt.

"Just give me a moment," she said, wiggling free of his arms so she could set the necessary accoutrements on her dresser. Once the sponge had been soaked in the lemon juice and then squeezed just enough so it wouldn't drip all over the place, she hesitated. Inserting it while her husband watched was possibly too far outside her area of comfort for her to continue.

"Would you like me to turn my back?" Edward asked, and she released the breath she had been holding.

"Yes, please," she said, accomplishing the task quite quickly once she no longer had an audience. On her trial run, the juice had stung a little. Nothing too severe, but applying a thin layer of the soothing, and protective, emollient to her sensitive nether region, _before_ she inserted the mildly-acid soaked sponge, made for a much more pleasant experience this time around.

"All set," she said with a hint of triumph before climbing back onto the bed. To be on the safe side, before laying down, she placed upon the sheets one of the heavy linen cloths she used for extra protection when she had her courses. While she was busy, Edward removed his remaining garment and then lay down beside her. He wasted no time in drawing her close and showering her with delicious kisses and arousal-inducing caresses. He only paused from his welcome endeavours to lift his head and ask, "Alice is confident the lemon juice and sponge are all we need to prevent conception?"

"Since I am also nursing, which is somewhat of a safeguard by itself, then yes, it is fine." She cupped his cheek, admiring his dear face and better understanding the uncertainty in his gaze. Almost losing her life at the birth, and then fighting the awful infection in the weeks afterward, had been frightening for them both. "Once we don't have the protection of my nursing the babes, we can take the extra precaution of having you withdraw. Then I am sure we shan't have any unwanted surprises."

"You don't mind if we settle for only the two children? I don't know if I could go through that again."

Isabella smiled. Women really were the more resilient of the genders in many ways, as she fully intended they would expand their brood . . . in time.

"Let's not worry about that now, shall we? I don't want to leave it too long and have the lemon juice lose its efficacy."

Edward's brows rose. "Is that possible?"

"Better safe than sorry," she murmured, done with talking and more than ready to get busy loving her husband in all the delightful ways they had at their disposal. Three months truly was too long.

Edward's hands and mouth resumed their dual actions of tasting, teasing, soothing, and stroking until Isabella writhed upon the bed, her delighted moans filling the air. When she was but a hair's breadth away from finding the first, much needed, release she would have experienced in a full, quarter-year, her husband lifted his head.

"What of the babes? Are we likely to be interrupted? I locked the door, but what if they need to be fed?"

"Edward!" Isabella reached down to thread her fingers through the top of his, typically unruly, hair and directed his troubled gaze away from the door and up to meet her exasperated expression. "The babes are fine. Nurse Reynolds has matters well in hand, as I suspect the woman could outproduce a Jersey cow. I asked her to wake me for the early morning feed, the one I usually skip. Now can we _please_ get back to the matter in hand?"

Her large but loving, fiercely protective, and surprisingly nurturing husband assumed a suitably chagrined expression. "Sorry, my love," he murmured before putting his talented fingers, mouth, and tongue—the first time he had used that on her delicate folds had been quite the revelation—back to work, quickly engendering the much desired, and much appreciated, response.

Isabella was still revelling in the languorous waves of completion when Edward climbed up her body and positioned himself between her lax thighs. Wanting him to experience the same degree of bliss he had just gifted her, she spread her legs wider, hugged his hips with her knees, wrapped her arms around his broad back, and urged him home.

It didn't quite work the way she had hoped. Whether it was because they were out of practise, or as a result of scar tissue having tightened the area, she wasn't sure. But it took both their hands to position and guide his member into place. He thrust forward again, and another obstacle presented itself. Pain. A most unpleasant, burning pain. Unable to help herself, Isabella both winced and whimpered.

Edward paused. "Is there a problem?"

Isabella's brow furrowed in contemplation. "Pass me the jar of emollient," she said, his arms longer and more easily able to reach the bedside chest of drawers upon which it sat. Once he had handed her the jar, she scooped a small dollop of the cream from inside and then reached between them to smooth it along his hardened length and around her resistant entrance.

"Try again," she instructed after tossing the jar to the empty side of the mattress.

Edward complied, and they both sighed with relief. Hers, from the lack of pain and the ease with which he was able to slide all the way in, and his, no doubt, from the pleasure of being encased in her silky warmth. She had once had him describe what it felt like, and she could imagine he had missed being inside her as much as she had craved having him there.

Holding still once he was fully encased, Edward met her gaze. "Better?" he asked.

"Perfect," she whispered. "Now move!"

"So bossy," he said with a smile, although he was quick to obey. He moved slowly, at first, and then with increasing vigour, as it became apparent that Isabella was not detrimentally affected by their activities. Industrious in his endeavours, in time, Edward brought them both to the brink of ecstasy. They hovered there in aching anticipation, adoring gazes locked. Then, with their cries mingling together, they tumbled over the precipice and beyond to a world of joy and intimacy and passionate fulfillment. It was a familiar place, one the friends-turned-spouses-turned-lovers would revisit time and time again throughout their long, happy and, quite literally, fruitful union.

Lemons are a fruit, after all!

 **~P &P . . . D&D~**

 **Hopefully you found that both fun and satisfying. I've posted chapters in two stories this week where they've been rather chatty before and during sex, but that's life sometimes, and Isabella/Bella had some serious insecurities to overcome in both situations.**

 **Passion and Propriety has been nominated in the TwiFanfictionRecs Top Ten Completed Stories for February. I don't expect to make the Top Ten, but your vote would be greatly appreciated. The last time I can recall winning a prize was 38 years ago. I was 16, and I won a box of chocolates at the weekly disco. Yeah...I had the moves. ;)**

 **xx Elise**


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